[fic] Fading Footsteps (the previous untitled FMA/HP crossover, part 2/2)
Part 2/2
On the Principle of Equivalent Trade
Neither of them winced as the professor slammed his left palm against the wall, somehow managing to loom and stare down at Tom despite being of…less than average height.
Well, I suppose he’s had a lot of practice, Tom thought, but he didn’t let amusement show on his face. It was dangerous to be complacent around this man.
He wasn’t wearing his glasses today. Up close, the gold eyes were huge and burning, like twin suns, consumed as they currently were by rage. Elric’s voice was a low hiss when he spoke.
“I thought we had an agreement!”
Tom met his furious gaze head on, smirking serenely. “I haven’t broken it.”
Elric almost snarled at him, but reined himself in at the last moment with what seemed to be great effort. The fire in his eyes settled, solidified, until his gaze turned cold and assessing.
“No, I suppose not,” he said slowly, as if a new thought had suddenly occurred to him. Then he laughed, and Tom knew the man well enough by now to recognize that it wasn’t his real laugh. “You think you can get away with what you’ve done?”
Tom let his eyes widen in faux-innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Professor.”
There was the telltale sound of metal scraping against metal, and then Elric’s right fist hit the wall, barely inches from his head. Tom didn’t flinch as he leaned in even closer, until he could see himself reflected in mirror-like eyes. Still, the professor gave him a tiny smirk, so he must have given himself away somehow.
Damn him for noticing, anyway.
“I’m hurt that you’d lie to me, Mr Riddle,” Elric said, still smirking.
Tom lifted his head, which bought them even closer. He could almost count the professor’s pale lashes.
“How do I know you’re not bluffing?” he sniffed disdainfully, although a part of him was in fact presently engaged with counting the professor’s eyelashes. I really must ask him how old he is sometime. Should be an entertaining conversation.
Elric braced himself on his left hand only to wag a finger in his face. “The diary, Tom.”
He blinked. The professor had always spoken of Tom’s unsavoury activities vaguely in the past, so to have him mention something so bluntly was a surprise, to say the least.
But then, he had asked the man to prove that he wasn’t bluffing.
Wait a minute, did he just call me -?
Tom gritted his teeth. “What are you going to do about it, Professor?”
The grim and assessing look in Elric’s eyes vanished, as he made up his mind about something. He was grinning, as if he understood the source of Tom’s displeasure.
“Oh, I don’t know…Whatever shall I do, Tom?”
And obviously, no matter how he had slipped up in the first place and called him by his first name, he was going to keep doing it, just to irritate Tom.
That was only a minor problem, though. The greater game, that was safe, that was fine. That was a battle he could win, and he knew it.
So Tom gave the man his most charming smile. “You’re asking me?” he replied, voice mild and even.
Elric tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“Well, you see, one of my favourite students did some pretty awful stuff, but I liked him enough to ask him to stop instead of turning him over to the terrifying whims of Professor Dumbledore...” he whispered, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. “Now he’s done something horribly illegal yet again, and I know the right thing to do would be to turn him in, but I’m so conflicted!” He gave Tom a wide-eyed look, then broke down and laughed at the bland expression on Tom’s face.
It was hard to keep a neutral expression, dammit. The monologue was amusing precisely because it was untrue, but there was also a twisted irony in it that he could appreciate. And, of course, Elric played the part of the conflicted yet good-natured mentor well.
Biting back a grin, Elric gave him another innocent, wide-eyed look. “So advise me, Tom. What am I to do?”
Tom smiled. He knew precisely what to say now.
“You’re going to keep quiet,” he whispered back, as if sharing a secret, “just like you did before.”
He got an appraising stare. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you don’t really like him, do you? You only keep quiet because he has something you want.” He paused, considering his next words and wondering if they were better left unsaid.
No. Better to leave things in the open.
Tom went on. “Now you keep quiet because he knows things about you that no one else does. And you want to keep it that way.”
Elric opened his mouth, but he seemed to change his mind half way and swallow his words. A frown marred his brow briefly, but then he smiled again.
“Very good. There’s just one thing you’ve got wrong.”
Tom kept his bland mask in place, but it was an effort. What’s he up to now?
“Really? What’s that?”
The professor’s smile widened, which set off alarm bells in the back of his mind, but he held still, determined not to flinch, as he leaned in close enough to whisper in Tom’s ear.
“I do like you, Tom.”
This time, he did flinch, but Elric must not have been feeling particularly vindictive, since it made him back away, arms finally falling back to his sides. Tom’s uncontrollable urge to hex the professor blind lessened.
When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “You’re a bastard, Professor.”
Elric was staring back at him, eyes inscrutable. “Only to those who deserve it.”
“Should I be insulted?” he asked, half amused and half annoyed. He gets the better of me far too often.
“Should you?”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “I’m not that different from you.”
That earned him a thoughtful look. “True...but the differences are pretty obvious. I’m more of a researcher. You’re not. You want to use everything.”
He laughed. Hypocrite. “And you don’t?”
Elric shook his head. “Not everything. My goals aren’t nearly as sinister as yours.”
Speaking of which..."There’s something I’ve been wondering.” He had been wondering a lot of things about the professor, actually, and now seemed like a good time for answers.
Elric gave him a look that said quite plainly ‘keep wondering’. Something about their first private conversation nagged at him. Equivalent trade, huh…
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I can forget about what happened to Rosier, if you’ll oblige me.”
What - why did I offer that, just to satisfy idle curiosity? Stupid.
Sighing, Elric dropped down onto the chair behind his desk. “Ask away then. Five questions, but make it quick and simple. I’ve got tons of grading to do.”
Well, that was easy. Maybe I’ll get something useful out of this. Question one…
“Why did you do that to Rosier? He would probably have kept quiet about everything.” Tom shook his head derisively. “I think he was actually jealous of me. He positively adored you.”
Elric gave him a mocking smile. “I know. I didn’t mean to encourage it.”
“Then…” he trailed off, not wanting to waste a question.
“I know how to work with you,” Elric murmured, a wistful look lingering in his eyes. “I had no idea what to do with him. Next question, if you please.”
Interesting. I wonder what it is about Rosier that makes Elric so nostalgic. If he phrased these questions right, even the most innocuous could be a gold mine of information. Tom smiled to himself. This was far too much fun. Question two. “Why do you spend so much time and effort on teaching when it interferes with your goal?”
Elric frowned. “I like teaching the bright ones. If I’m going to be doing something, I might as well do it properly.”
Even so…
“That’s not the only reason,” Tom said, trying to prompt for more without using up a question.
“Well, no. I’m useless to Dumbledore. If I didn’t do a good job teaching he’d run me out for freeloading.”
What would Dumbledore want Elric for? Unless…"He asked for your help with Grindelwald, didn’t he?” Question three: and now we come to the interesting part of this conversation…
“Yeah, and I turned him down. I can’t do that much alchemy, you know. And then only in magical places.”
“You can’t?” And even more interesting…Question four.
“It’s just not compatible enough to magic, or at least that’s what I think.” Elric sighed, spreading his hands in an expansive gesture. “There you have it. I’m useless to you.”
Tom arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t going to waste a question on something like this, but there had been something he had wanted to ask earlier…
The professor stood up, though, effectively signalling the end of the conversation. Amber eyes, intense and deadly serious, stared into his. “You can’t use me, so don’t make me an enemy, Tom.”
He recognised the intent behind the words. Finality - the professor had had enough and no more probing questions would be answered.
Well, he’s been more cooperative than I thought he’d be. Something else for the last question then…Tom smiled as his own earlier thoughts came back to him. Yes, that would work.
Elric looked wary - he probably knew what that smile meant by now. Still, he made no move to chase the Slytherin out.
Tom took a step towards the desk. He wanted to see the professor’s reaction almost as much as he wanted the answer.
“Professor - how old are you?”
Surely enough, surprise and then confusion flashed across Elric’s face before he managed to hide it. His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just curious,” Tom replied, shrugging, although he was smirking inside.
Elric frowned and shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
The words were out before he could stop them. “Tell me your name, then. Even the professors call you by your last name.”
Why did I…?
It was worth it, though, for the very real expression of surprise that flashed across Elric’s face and stayed this time, the professor either unable or unwilling to conceal it.
Silence reigned as Elric’s brow furrowed in thought. His face cleared as he came to a decision.
“Dumbledore uses my name, not that I want him to,” he confided in a whisper, leaning over the desk and giving Tom his teasing smile.
Well, at least we have that in common - a shared dislike of the master of this school.
“My name…is Edward.”
-------------
I gave him my name. Why did I do that?
I shouldn’t have told him so much. It’s hard, though. Hard to lie.
Not that telling him the complete truth about Rosier was an option.
Even if Alexander adored me, he would only follow you in the end. For his sake, you don’t need to know that.
I’m trying to help you, Tom.
You’re just as much of a genius as I am, but there’s one thing you’ll probably never understand…
I really do like you, Tom.
-------------
If Tom was in the habit of lying to himself, he would say that he studied often in the professor’s office because he liked the comfortable armchairs, the warmth and quiet of the place, and Elric’s excellent coffee. Because he didn’t lie, at least not to himself, he was forced to admit that as nice as those things were, it was really the man’s company that has made him return, time and again.
Listen to me, I sound like Rosier. It wasn’t an entirely fair comparison - Tom didn’t quite like the professor, not the way Rosier did, but he found the man fascinating, and not for any reason he could pinpoint.
There was admiration as well, because Elric was a walking encyclopaedia when it came to many subjects, magical or otherwise, and because he had a sharp mind that knew what to do with his knowledge.
It was exciting, to have someone whose fierce intellect could match up well against his, who saw through his mask of the perfect student to the ruthlessly ambitious young man underneath, and yet accorded him neither fear nor awe.
The fact that Elric didn’t hate or patronize him and instead held a twisted sort of vague affection for him also helped.
The professor was usually good company because he was quiet and unobtrusive while he worked, answered academic questions freely and welcomed heated discussions.
Tonight seemed to be an exception.
Tom watched, bemused, as yet another piece of parchment landed in the fire place. Elric growled something unintelligible under his breath and went back to writing, but Tom’s concentration was gone. He was far too curious.
It wouldn’t do to let the man know he was being watched, though, so he pretended to work. Eventually, a snatch of intelligible words caught his attention.
“Damn that old man…”
Tom suppressed a smirk. “Professor Dumbledore giving you trouble, sir?”
Elric’s head snapped up at his voice, and he looked almost embarrassed, as if ashamed to be caught talking to himself.
To Tom’s disappointment, though, the professor recovered quickly and flashed him a small smirk. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
This is more interesting than History of Magic homework any day.
He smiled. “Am I right?”
Elric slumped back into his chair, sighing heavily. It was times like these when he let his exhaustion show that made Tom wonder if the professor was much, much older than he looked.
“Afraid not, Tom.”
His tone was clipped and precise, not at all like his usual self. The man was clearly tired, restless and irritable, but Tom couldn’t and didn’t resist the impulse to push further. Maybe he’ll be more forthcoming if he’s too tired to guard himself.
“Who, then?”
He tried to keep his tone bland, but Elric’s eyes came awake anyway, focusing and settling on his face. Whatever the professor read in his expression made him raise an eyebrow.
“Talkative today, aren’t you?”
“Only because you’re distracting me, professor,” he shot back, letting his lips curve up into his courteous, bland, and usually inscrutable smile.
It was unfortunate that the ‘inscrutable’ part often didn’t apply to this man. Who was now smirking at him.
“So I’m a distraction? You could always go back to your common room and work there.”
You’re not getting rid of me that easily.
“You still haven’t answered my question, sir.”
Elric laughed, and the image of the bone-weary traveller was gone, leaving only the erudite, energetic and strict professor behind. “Awfully persistent of you.”
“You encourage persistence, sir.” Let him take that however he wants to. It would be nice to give him something to think about, at least.
Unfortunately his reply didn’t faze the man, if the suddenly playful gleam in amber eyes was any indication.
“Equivalent exchange, Tom. You admit out loud that you come here for more than the atmosphere and the opportunity to use me as a reference book, and I’ll tell you why I was so annoyed.”
If I didn’t know for sure that he doesn’t know Legilimency…
He gritted his teeth. “Why does it matter?”
That earned him a disbelieving look, as if he was missing something completely obvious.
“You tell me, Tom. Why do you want to know so much about me? It’s the same thing.”
That’s what I’m trying to figure out! If I knew why…
Elric gave him a rueful grin. “Not everyone has to be a tool for you, Tom. It’s okay to have some things for the sake of enjoying them.”
You don’t understand. I have a purpose!
…
Or maybe you do.
Still…“You can’t mean to say you enjoy having me around.”
Elric smiled at him then, but for once it was open and honest, like no other expression he’d ever seen on the man’s face.
“What do you think, Tom?”
I…I don’t know.
You want to stop me at every turn, and yet you profess to like me? You’re insane.
Whatever flashed across his face at that thought made Elric’s smile vanish and his usual bland expression take its place. Tom felt suddenly chilled at the familiar inscrutable façade.
There’s an opportunity here…I can feel it. He didn’t understand it, but he did know that it would pass him by if he didn’t grasp it.
His mouth bypassed his brain with alarming frequency around this man. This time, Tom willingly allowed it.
“Professor?”
“Hmm?”
He still didn’t understand Elric, but at least he knew what to say.
“You’re right. I do come here for more than just that.” Tom let that sink in, and then went on, smiling. “There’s also your excellent coffee.”
He didn’t want to know what his eyes were telling the man, but it made Elric smile again. It was bright, with sharp edges to it, and that was just as it should be.
“Yeah, nobody else around here knows how to appreciate a good cup of coffee,” he declared, deadpan. “Highly unfortunate.”
“Tragic,” Tom replied, allowing himself something that could almost be called a real smile. “Equivalent trade, professor.”
Elric sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s not really that interesting…just reading some of my father’s old letters.”
Tom’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “You don’t like your father?”
He got a slightly twisted grin in answer. “He left my mother when I was very young and never came back, even when she died. I hated him.”
…
‘I hate that stupid muggle. He abandoned mother just because she was a witch, even when she was pregnant with his child. I hate him!’
One of these days, he’s going to stop surprising me.
Not today, though.
Epilogue: Homeward Bound
"Tom.”
“Yes, Professor?”
Don’t let your soul get destroyed by pride.
I don’t want to see you succumb to death and hate.
Don’t do it.
“…never mind.”
-------------
“Professor Dumbledore. You wanted to talk?”
“How many times have I told you, Edward? Please, call me Albus.”
“You wanted to talk, Albus?”
If I can deal with this smug bastard on a daily basis…that Colonel is never getting a rise out of me again.
…
He’d be an old man by now, anyway.
“I wanted to ask how the preparations for your journey are going.”
“Fairly well. I should be ready on time.”
“So quickly? The Festival of Saints is only a week away.”
“I’ll be ready. If I screw it up I’ll have to wait another year.”
I have to be ready on time. No more waiting.
“I should think the consequences of failure for you would be far worse than that.”
“Probably.”
“You are unconcerned with what could happen?”
“Of course I’m concerned. But what else is there to do but try it?”
“Edward. Do you really despise this world so much?”
“…no. But I have to go back, you know that.”
“You have formed no attachments at all here, then?”
“You know the answer to that.”
Bastard. No attachments? What do you call it, then?
What would you call it? Alexander. Tom.
…Alphonse.
“…”
Stop twinkling at me!
“What do you want me to do, Albus?”
“You’re on far better terms with Mr Riddle than I, Edward.”
“That’s not exactly difficult, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. Again, I ask: what do you want me to do?”
“Whatever you can, Edward. You can’t want to see him go further down the path he’s on.”
You don’t know, Dumbledore…if what I’ve already done isn’t enough, then there’s nothing else.
“What I want…is irrelevant.”
-------------
In the end, science had failed Edward. All he had actually needed to reach the Gate was energy, but it had to be a stable source, not to mention one of overwhelming capacity, if he was going to have enough for calling on the Gate after the loss that resulted in the transition from magic to his alchemy.
The answer, when it came to him, was blindingly obvious. The biggest source of magical energy around was his own place of residence for the past few years - Hogwarts.
He had spent years and years perfecting his theory, calculating the optimum time and method for the attempted crossing, knowing that when the time came, he would not hesitate to abandon this world for his own.
There’s no Al in this world. Even if there had been…
…Alphonse…
He’s dead.
On the Halloween night of 1943, Edward closed his eyes, pressed his hands to the stone walls of the dungeons deep below the school and spoke to the castle.
It was ancient and sentient in a way that was beyond human comprehension, but it would hear him out and understand his words.
Help me, he entreated, and showed it what he wanted. This was safe, because there was no equivalent exchange here, and Hogwarts was not the Gate. It would not demand a price, only deign to let him borrow its essence, or not.
Edward did not flinch as it brushed over his mind - the mental touch was light, and it was only curious.
Hogwarts did not speak for human understanding, but he knew what it meant when he was enveloped by its consciousness like a warm embrace.
Yes.
Light poured into him, and he opened himself for it, accepted its invading touch, let it overwhelm him. It would be alright.
His mind was blank, save for one thing - the massive, spiralling array that would call the Gate. It was his masterpiece, second only to the array he had used to revive Al.
Please, take me back to him.
The light filled him until he was numb. He could no longer feel the stone wall under his hands or the chill of the dungeons. For a moment, nothing existed.
And then he opened his eyes and saw the Gate.
The Gate, like Hogwarts, was sentient in a way beyond human understanding. However, it lacked the neutrality with which Hogwarts viewed the world from its limited perspective. The Gate was far more interested in the torment of men.
It did not speak, but he understood.
What Is It You Want This Time, Child? We Tire Of Dealing With You.
This is the last time. You know what I want. Take me back to the other side.
Do You Not Care About the Price?
Edward did care about the price, but that was only a secondary concern. What did it matter if he lost more limbs, if he could keep his brother from paying in his stead?
Name it.
He could sense amusement now, and that combined with the unsettling sensation of mocking laughter as it echoed in his mind told him all he needed to know.
It was going to be horrible.
We Will Grant Your Wish. In Return, You Will Be Forgotten In The World You Did Not Belong To.
Forgotten?
All Traces of You Will Fade In Those You Have Met.
Why would it matter? I haven’t interfered with this world…
It almost seemed too easy.
It Is A Far Greater Price Than You Know, Foolish Child.
He thought of Alexander, bright eyed, scholarly, pliant Alexander, who looked at him as if he was the sun and followed Tom far too easily.
He thought of Tom, handsome, brilliant, ambitious Tom, with his blue eyes so dark they were almost black, and so much hatred for the world within himself.
The Gate showed him - falling darkness blood so much hatred so many dead I am Lord Voldemort - and he understood.
No.
The Price Is Set. Enough.
No. You can’t do that!
…
I’m sorry, Tom.
Black hands reached out from the open doors of the Gate and pulled him inside.
Hold on, Al, I’m coming back.
-------------
There was cold floor beneath his back when he woke, as well as a strange crackling sensation on his skin. Edward had been so long without real, undiluted alchemy that it took him a few seconds to recognise the feeling, and then he opened his eyes and sat up.
What he saw made his heart clench. He was in the middle of a large, glowing array. One he immediately recognized.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been fully activated yet. And the small figure kneeling by it was…
“Al! Al, stop!”
The boy’s head snapped up at that, the expression on his face going from shock to relief to heartfelt happiness as he snatched his hands away from the array and scrambled up.
“Brother!”
There. That one word…that’s got to be worth anything I can give.
The array died without Al to concentrate on it, but that was just as well, because Al was running towards him, holding back tears; Al was launching himself into Ed’s arms and tackling him to the floor in a bear hug; Al was smiling, grey eyes watery but brilliant, and holding him as if he’d never let go.
That’s definitely my Al, Ed thought, content for the first time in many years, as he held on and fought against the sudden tight feeling in his chest at the sight of his brother, whole and human and…
Wait a minute…
Young?
Before he could ponder the implications, a door banged open somewhere above them, and Edward heard another painfully familiar voice, shouting his brother’s name.
“Alphonse! Alphonse, you can’t d-” Roy Mustang froze, eye widening in shock.
Long time no see, Colonel bastard.
But then he glanced down at Al in his arms, Mustang standing in the doorway, perhaps not well but definitely alive, and he suddenly couldn’t find the words. It was only mildly reassuring that the Colonel was having the same problem.
Eventually, Edward managed to speak. “It’s alright now,” he murmured, voice strained and broken.
Al’s arms tightened around him.
It’s really alright…Al hasn’t hurt himself, I’m back, and you’re alive…it’s not so bad.
He’d ask about the eye patch later.
Distractedly, he patted the top of Al’s head while Mustang made his way slowly towards them, incredulity warring with relief in his oddly open expression. There had been something wrong with the transition between worlds - Al looked like a teenager, and Mustang’s hair was still dark.
What happened? The time isn’t the same as it was in the other world.
And then he smiled. Of course - the Gate has no concept of time. I was thinking of Al, so it must have dropped me where it could feel him the most strongly, and that’s got to be when he’s attempting to call the Gate himself.
He had been just in time to stop his brother from endangering himself. Not only that, he realized with a rising sense of hope - he wasn’t going to miss seeing Al growing up after all. It was almost too good to be true. Edward couldn’t find it within himself to complain.
He tightened his grip on Al. No matter what happens next, we’ll get through everything together.
“Welcome back,” Mustang finally managed, his voice strangely quiet. Ed glanced up to see the man giving him a smile with none of the edge he remembered. There was no smugness in that expression, for once, only heartfelt emotion.
Once in a lifetime, that.
That was okay. Ed had already lived several.
Don’t fall too far, Tom.
“I’m home.”
---------------------------------------
Summer 1944, Little Hangleton, Britain
Tom felt strangely free and light. With every step he took down his chosen path, confusion and doubt had melted away, leaving only the shape of future glory behind. Certainty had carried him here, to this muggle neighbourhood.
There was something nagging him, though, at the back of his mind. He brushed it away, annoyed. It wasn’t quite doubt - just a strangely familiar voice, whispering into his ear.
You can do great things, Tom. Just don’t let it consume you. That’s when you forget yourself. There was more - a soft, even voice that belonged to someone who knew his nature, and was nevertheless confident, understanding and unafraid. A flash of gold.
He couldn’t grasp them. They faded away, as if they’d never been. There was nothing left in his mind - his goal had consumed all else, became an obsession, raging and uncontrollable.
But there was unfinished business, first. There would be death here tonight, in the Riddle house.
Yes, death will come tonight for that man - the one who gave Tom his name. Not that it mattered - that filthy muggle name was gone now, purified by fire into something glorious and immortal.
A name wizards and witches all over the world will one day fear to speak.
Tom Marvolo Riddle - I am Lord Voldemort.
-------------
fin.
Last call for side story requests - please comment if you want me to do one.
Feedback is love. ^_^
*coughs* I'm now going to take this opportunity to shamelessly pimp my other FMA fic ideas. So, these are from two different fics. Icarus Rising is an AU that splits from the series after the Elric brothers attempt to transmute their mother, featuring semipsychotic!Ed. After the Fall is a post-series fic that splits from the series after the end of episode 51 - in other words, movie AU.
Icarus Rising - Prologue
“Please,” says the child, mouth set in a defiant line, eyes wide and terrified. “I’ll do anything. Just…let him go.”
The familial resemblance between the two is strong - brothers, he’d be willing to bet. The older shields the younger with his body, not out of courage, but simple desperation and love. It’s almost enough to touch something inside of him. Something that still remembers what ‘brother’ sounds like, said with admiration and love in his sweet voice.
It’s not enough.
He reaches out to run his hand through the kid’s blond hair, smiling with what would be affection on another face, without eyes like his. The boy shudders under his touch.
“Just…let him go. Please.”
At his tiny nod, the kid lowers his head, eyes closed.
The younger one screams, loud and piercing, when he is drenched with flesh and blood.
The hand on his head quietens him, reduces him to soft whimpering.
“It’s okay. He’ll be happy, thinking that he died saving you,” he tells the child blankly, surprised at how rough and hoarse his voice has become from disuse.
The child calls for his brother, desperate and hopeless, before he is reduced to silence.
Flesh and blood cannot speak.
Edward discards his soiled gloves. He knows that he’s supposed to feel something, but he doesn’t know what it is, and there’s no one to tell him. There’s no room for feeling, not anymore.
The only thing that consumes him is alchemy. The only other thing that exists is his goal. Not human doesn’t even begin to cover what his mind has become, what he’s become, and he doesn’t know how to care about that anymore either.
“What would you say about all this? Al…What would you say, when I find you again?”
After the Fall - Prologue
All that is solid melts into air…
There is a young man kneeling in the darkness of the temple. Golden locks fall to the floor as he runs scissors through his hair, just beneath where the rubber band is holding it in place in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.
The priest approaches him slowly and silently, not wishing to disturb what seems to be a deeply private ritual. Still, the young man stands and turns at his approach, all fluid motion.
His eyes are bright and sharp and sun-coloured, his figure slight. The priest sees the hand of God in his fine features, in the grace of his movements and the sharp intelligence in his intent gaze.
He tells the young man so, because he looks like he could use some kindness. Because he looks like he has forgotten what it sounds like.
The young man spares a startled blink and a nod for him. “Thank you,” he says, voice hushed but tone firm, expression turning apologetic, “but I don’t believe in God.”
The priest offers a kindly smile. “Ishbala believes in you, my son.”
The stranger’s lips quirk up until the expression on his face can almost be termed a smile. He bows to the priest and saunters out of the darkness of the temple.
His reply is offered to the sunlit path outside as he strides along with no particular destination in mind. “How unfortunate for Ishbala.”
…all that is holy is profaned…
An even smaller person swallowed entirely by a dark cloak falls into step beside him, silent and unobtrusive as the first man heads for the outskirts of town, showing no sign that he even knows he has company.
The silence is broken by the cloaked man.
His voice is soft, like a boy’s. “Can I ask you a question?” At the other’s almost imperceptible nod, he goes on. “Are you sure about that Colonel of yours? It won’t work without him.”
He gets a surprised, appraising look from the taller man, who bites back two immediate responses: He’s not a Colonel anymore and He’s most definitely not my Colonel. When he does reply, his tone is bland.
“What makes you ask that?”
The response from the cloaked man is hesitant. “If he’s perfectly happy the way he is now…he won’t go back.”
”He’ll go back. And soon, if I know him.” And I do know him - If there was ever a man (and a woman, he amends) unsuited to domesticated bliss…He smiles, gold eyes narrowed.
The other man’s expression is entirely hidden by the hood of his cloak as he nods deferentially. “I’ll get going then.”
The blond man gives a jaunty wave in reply, watching him disappear with thoughtful eyes.
“The hand of God, huh.” Suddenly, he laughs, closing his right hand into a fist with a resounding ‘clank’.
The former Fullmetal Alchemist laughed. The irony in that phrase alone is enough to drive one to drink.
Edward Elric defines his own divinity, by desires and by passion, by knowledge and by truth.
…and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses, his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.
TBC
Any comments on the above two are highly welcome. I've got more written, but I don't really want to go and write long plotty fics if the ideas aren't interesting enough for the fics to find an audience. ^_^
(so, tell me what I'm quoting in that ficbit from After the Fall *grins*)
Thanks so much, everyone. XD