Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist > Changed for Good
Changed For Good - Chapter 11
Everything Goes to Hell
The sun was only just rising over the rolling green hills of Rizenbul, but Winry Rockbell had been awake for hours, toiling away at the workshop behind the house. She wasn't even aware of the time, really; she was so wrapped up in the task at hand that nothing else seemed to matter. It was always that way, with a project that had her excited, and the Trelanni commission was just that. Rio Trelanni was a man in Aquroya who had lost his right leg in an accident, and knew that in such an aquatic, it would be suicide to have metal parts attached to ones body. So he'd come to the Rockbells, said he'd pay them double their normal rate to make him a functional leg that would not sink.
It hadn't been easy. Pinako had given the project entirely to Winry, who had considered everything from air chambers to pumping systems to making it entirely out of wood, but had thrown all of them out, for one reason or another. The solution, she had found, involved a aquadynamic design, small cork plugs at the joints, and a lightweight, rust-resistant alloy she had made with the help of an alchemist she'd met during her apprenticeship in Rush Valley. And now, after days and nights of hard work, the project was nearing completion.
Finally, as the red dawn faded into blue early-morning sky, Winry stood back from her bench and heaved a satisfied sigh. She rested her hands on her hips and grinned at her creation, feeling ridiculously proud - and, now that she wasn't focusing all her energy on this screw or that wire or those connections, very hungry, rather sleepy, and much in need of a bath. She stretched her arms over her head, feeling joints popping all over, and headed into the house, to see to those needs.
At the door, she stepped out of the auto-mail exoskeleton that had encased her right leg, on and off, for the past eight years, ever since the tendons behind her knee were severed by that maniac in Central. The exoskeleton was an invaluable piece of equipment: with a line of work that required long hours standing at the worktable, she'd have been lost with it. But it was heavy and cumbersome, and scratched the smooth wooden floors of the house, and so when she was inside, Winry had to get by with crutches, which were leaning against the door, right where she'd left them. She took them back up now and headed into the house. She'd make a better exoskeleton, one of these days. She'd make it lighter and smaller and more effective, and better all around... as soon as she had the time. She could walk with the auto-mail, could sit under a tree and wade in the river, but she couldn't run or climb or swim. She'd have to see about fixing that, one of these days...
She went outside to collect the morning paper from the front step. A few years ago, a newspaper delivered to one's door would have been unheard of, in Rizenbul at least; but the town was growing, expanding greatly in recent years. It now had its own inn, its own doctor (a job left vacant since Winry's parents had died), it's own post office. Now the Central and East City papers could be received only a day late; two, if the train broke down. It was a wonderful luxury, to be sure. Even if, sometimes, Winry missed her small, quiet town, that had more trees and cows than people. And she definitely wouldn't have been sorry to see the new military recruitment office go.
Still, having the paper delivered was a luxury she much appreciated. She bent to pick it up, and casually scanned the morning headlines. A few moments later, her eyes widened with horror, and she dropped the paper, turning around and hobbling for the stairs as fast as she could, shouting for her grandmother.
TREASON! Flame and Full Metal Alchemists to be Tried for Conspiracy and Murder!
- - - - -
Edward Elric sat in his cell in the Central City lockup, looking resignedly at the opposite wall. This cell looked remarkably similar to the one they'd thrown him in eight years ago, right after the Incident. It might even have been the same one; he wouldn't be surprised.
However, that cell hadn't had armed guards in it day and night, and it was starting to grate on Edward's nerves.
The military had been careless before, but now they were taking no chances, with him or with Roy. It had been almost two weeks since the arrest, and since then there had been at least one guard in Ed's cell at all times. The guards never spoke to Ed, even when he spoke to them; they just watched him, holding their rifles to their chests, unmoving. In the first few days it had made him mad, and he'd shouted at them, angry and frustrated and taking it out on them, but their response to that had been swift and merciless: they'd lunged forward and pinned him against the bed, while another guard administered injections to Ed's shoulders, completely numbing and deadening Ed's arms, hands, and chest for an entire day. He'd have no choice but to lie there, fuming, until the drugs wore off and he could sit up again. And so it had gone, for almost two weeks. The only breaks in the monotony came every few days, when Edward would be freshly injected, handcuffed, put in the back of a truck, and taken to the Central City courthouse, for the trial.
The trial, and the rides to and from, were the only times he saw Mustang, and they never spoke on those occasions, not with guards everywhere. Mustang didn't look very capable of speech, anyway. Every time Ed saw him, the man looked pale and haunted, his expression hollow and his eyes empty. They were being kept at opposite ends of the lockup, so Edward couldn't speak for Mustang's condition the rest of the time, but whenever Ed saw him, he looked half-dead. He might look at Edward, from time to time, but Edward had the impression that Mustang wasn't really seeing him.
Edward didn't particularly want to know what he was seeing.
- - - - -
The trial itself - if it could be called that - was held in the Amestrian Chambers of Justice in the middle of the city. Ed and Roy were required to be present whenever it convened, but were never given a chance to speak. They were permitted only to watch, as exhibit after exhibit was presented, which the State had the audacity to call 'evidence': documents found in Mustang's office, mostly, which supposedly linked him to a treasonous plot to assassinate the Fuhrer, to pave the way for a Drachman invasion, to seize power for himself, and on, and on, and on. And not only did these documents implicate Roy; they also indicted Edward himself, Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Lieutenant Heymans Breda, Warrant Officer Farman, Sergeant Major Fury - even the deceased First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes - as being involved in the 'plot'.
The other major body of evidence came from the testimony of the State's star witness: the Fuhrer's secretary, Miss Juliet Douglas.
Edward had fuzzy memories of Miss Douglas's testimony. Probably because he was so disturbed by her appearance, and the sound of her voice, that he couldn't really concentrate on what she was saying. Miss Douglas told the court that she had been working late at the office, and on her way out, heard sounds of a scuffle in Mustang's office. She looked in just in time to see Edward Elric wrestle Hawkeye's gun away from her, and shoot her at point blank range.
Edward only heard bits and pieces of this. He was far too discomfited by Miss Douglas herself. Her hair, her voice, her eyes, all unnerved him on a level he didn't even want to think about.
The story spun was that Mustang had been planning this insubordination for years, and that four years ago, Hughes had had a change of heart and planned to break away, possibly to inform the government of Mustang's unlawful activities. When Mustang found out about this, he had Hughes killed, which would account for the questionable circumstances of Hughes' death. Years later, when Hawkeye tried to do the same thing, Mustang had her killed as well, this time by Edward himself.
Edward, of course, did not believe a word of it. Even if he hadn't been implicated in the crimes at all, he wouldn't have believed it. Not that he didn't believe Mustang incapable of treason and insubordination; no, Mustang was indeed crafty enough and clever enough for such an undertaking. In fact, Edward would have been surprised if Mustang hadn't been keeping secrets from the government. But ordering the murder of Hughes? Of Hawkeye? Edward would never have believed that. And it enraged him that everyone else so easily did.
Indeed, the people of Amestris seemed all too ready to believe the worst of Mustang, and of Edward. The case was highly publicized (Edward only had to look at the headlines of the papers his guards read to figure that much out) and everyone seemed to easily buy into the story of the corrupt Colonel who had lied, cheated, even murdered, to feed his own ambition, to try to bring down the government. And their ire was not only directed at Roy, not only at Edward, but at the Drachmans as well. Edward could see them in the streets on his way to the courthouse, hear them from his little cell: crowds of angry citizens, waving Amestrian flags and shouting anti-Drachma slogans and howling to strike first, to get those heartless foreigners before they got us.
Edward got a small taste of it, whenever he was brought to the courthouse. The guards and soldiers would part the crowd for Edward and Mustang and the other prisoners to be brought in, and the people behind the barricades would shout, threaten, hurl insults like blows, calling him monster, traitor, murderer.
Inside, it was not much better. Alphonse, Gracia, Nina, and Elysia were present throughout the trial; Edward saw them escorted in and out by armed soldiers. Gracia and Al were both under heavy suspicion, for their connections to Edward, to Roy, to Hughes. Edward heard one of the guards say that Al and Gracia were under house arrest, and were only allowed to go out for purposes of the trial. Many charges were brought against them, but, and Edward thanked whatever deities might be listening for it, none of them were able to stick. Gracia had many friends and neighbors who were all willing to speak for her good character and lawful behavior, and even Juliet Douglas admitted that she had not seen Alphonse present at the time of Hawkeye's murder. And everyone agreed that an eight foot tall man in armor (which, thank God once more, they still believed Alphonse to be) was not exactly designed for steathy subterfuge. So eventually the court had to conclude, if grudgingly, that Gracia and Al were guilty of nothing more than bad luck (and in Gracia's case, an unfortunate taste in men.)
But the same could not be said for Edward, or for Roy and his men.
Edward seethed with rage as the charges were brought, one after the other, an endless parade of lawyers and evidence and testimony, of first, second, third degree murder, of treason and treachery and betrayal and deceit. And never once did Ed have the slightest shred of evidence to refute their accusations. No one could account for his whereabouts on the night of Hawkeye's murder, save for Alphonse, whose testimony was unfortunately still highly suspect.
Of course, even if Ed had had any evidence to redeem himself, he would never have been given a chance to present it. They never even took his statement, but instead referred to 'private testimonies' and 'signed confessions' that Ed clearly recalled having never even seen before, but which the State's attorneys and judges proudly bandied about for the jury and judge. More than once Edward wanted to stand up and shout that this was wrong, this was all a filthy lie, why couldn't anyone see that? But even if his instructions to stay quiet did not deter him, the guns of the guards standing beside Nina, Elysia, and Gracia did. He had no illusions what would happen to them, should he prove uncooperative.
So he and Roy sat there in the defendant's box, surrounded by guards, and watched their world come crashing down.
- - - - -
They called Cain Fury to the stands first thing that morning. Roy watched them bring him up, wide-eyed and trembling, looking small and afraid in his grey prison clothes. They sat him down and began to question him without even giving him a chance to catch his breath.
They didn't yet have a murderer for Hughes. Edward Elric had been blamed for Hawkeye, but there were numerous witnesses, both outside and within the military, who confirmed that Edward had been in East City when Hughes' murder occurred, and Hughes had died in Forein, north of Central.
And Fury had been away from East City that whole week, visiting his parents up in Altima. And Altima was no more than a half-day's walk from Forein. Less, if you drove. And Fury was always so good with machines.
Roy watched helplessly, silently, as they broke Fury down, as they badgered him and hounded him and shouted at him and brought him near tears, while in Roy's mind the prosecutors died a hundred thousand painful deaths.
Fury couldn't speak. He hunched down in his seat, his shoulders quaking, breathing hard, his eyes darting around the courtroom.
"I say again, Mister Fury!" the lead attorney shouted, his face red and angry as he pounded on the witness stand, "Do you admit to having murdered Maes Hughes, in cold blood, on the orders of Roy Mustang!?" The man pointed a quivering finger at Roy, but his eyes were still locked on Fury's face.
Desperately, Fury looked up at Roy, the tears in his brown eyes threatening to spill over. Seeking comfort, seeking reassurance, seeking /anything/. But there was nothing Roy had to give him. No comfort, no reassurance, no hope. He just looked back at Fury, his dark eyes empty and sad.
Fury dropped his gaze, and then started to cry, in front of the judge, the lawyers, the entire courtroom. He curled up in his seat, his choked sobs the only sound in the huge room, and Roy's heart broke for him. He never wanted this for Fury. He never wanted this for any of them. They'd known the risks when they decided to follow him - Roy had made damn sure they knew - but he still couldn't believe it could really end like this. Not like /this/.
They'd brought him in to identify the body, before they sent him to the lockup. He'd strode in confident and angry, still in some way not believvng it to be true - but when they pulled back the sheet and he saw that pale, naked, dead thing underneath, all that was left of his Lieutenant, his Riza Hawkeye, perhaps the only person in the world who really knew him anymore... all the strength had gone out of him. All the passion, all the courage, all the fire in him had died, snuffed out by an icy breath of wind.
There was nothing he could do. There was nothing any of them could do. They were trapped, powerless. Someone had gotten them, and gotten them good, and he didn't know why and he didn't know who, and the worst part was that he would probably never know.
?They were going to win. Those bastards who'd done this to him, to all of them - to Hawkeye, to Edward, to Fury and the others, even to Hughes - they were going to get away with it. The recognition of that made Roy sick.
He watched Fury cry, and felt his own despair flowing through him. They'd lost. After all that, they had lost. There seemed to be no way out of this trap, and the worst part of it was the knowledge that it was all his fault.
- - - - -
It seemed like an eternity of helpless watching and waiting, but in reality it was only a month before the sentences were handed down. The iron-faced judge read them to the deathly silent courtroom on a cold February morning. For Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Lieutenant Heymans Breda, and Warrant Officer Vateau Farman, for treason and 3rd degree murder: life in prison. For Sergeant Major Cain Fury, for treason, 3rd degree murder, and 1st degree murder, life in prison as well, commuted from the death sentence because of his youth and the likelihood that he was under duress at the time of the murder.
For Major Edward Elric, for treason and 3rd and 1st degree murder; and for Colonel Roy Mustang, for 3rd degree murder and treason of the highest order: death.
- - - - -
As the last word fell upon the deathly silent courtroom, a howl suddenly arose from the balcony. There was a sudden commotion as a half a dozen guards rushed forward to restrain Alphonse, who had lunged forward, screaming Edward's name, and was attempting to fight his way off the edge of the balcony and down to his brother. Edward saw the guards rushing around, waving their guns, grabbing a hold of Elysia, Nina, and Gracia, and knew what would happen if Al continued to behave this way. He couldn't let that happen.
"Al!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the din of the courtroom. "Alphonse Elric, you stop that right this instant!"
Amazingly, Alphonse did. Edward's voice reached him somehow, and he stopped fighting, though he did not budge from the edge of the balcony, despite the guards' best efforts to dislodge him. Al looked down at him, gripping the balcony railing very tightly. Most people wouldn't be able to tell, but Edward had known Alphonse for almost twenty years. He could see that his brother was terrified. "Calm down, Al," Edward said. He didn't have to shout anymore; the courtroom had gone very quiet.
"Brother..." There was a pleading note in Al's voice, a helplessness that Ed never wanted to hear in Al's voice again.
"Don't worry about me," Ed told him, trying to keep his own voice steady.
"But -- "
"/Don't/, Al," Ed said forcefully. "There's nothing you can do for me now. Worry about /them/." He glanced over at Gracia and the girls. Gracia and Elysia were holding each other tight; Elysia was crying, and Gracia's face as buried in her daughter's hair. Nina was looking from him to Al and back again, her eyes wide with horror. "Take care of them, Al," Edward said firmly.
"But Brother --"
"No buts, Al," Edward insisted, glaring up at his brother. "You have to do this. You have to take care of them. And take care of yourself." He swallowed, but his throat felt dry. "There's nothing you can do for me, now."
"Brother..." Al made a sound like a strangled sob and sank to his knees with a crash, as if they wouldn't support him anymore. All of a sudden the noise started up again, quietly at first, then all of a sudden crescendoing into an uproar; the judge was banging his gavel and howling for order, the guards were shouting and the people in the courtroom were all abuzz. Edward could hear newspaper boys in the streets, already shouting the outcome and hocking their rags: State Alchemists found guilty! Treason of the highest order! Flame and Full Metal sentenced to die!
And through it all, Edward saw Nina tear herself away from the guards and start to run, away from the balcony towards the stairs. Gracia shouted after her, trying to call her back, but the girl wouldn't listen - and then rough hands were on Edward, turning him around and rushing him out, pushing him along and making him stumble down the steps to the corridor that ran behind the courtroom, his arms hanging like dead things in their stocks.
The corridor quickly became very dark, the ground underneath Ed's feet cold and rather damp. He could hear another set of bare feet padding along a few feet away - Roy - and two matching pairs of booted steps echoing off the stone walls. But Edward could see not a thing.
The guards seemed to know where they were going, though, because Ed suddenly felt himself being yanked down one side passage, then another, and another, and then, suddenly, there was dim light ahead of him.
He knew, rationally, that he should be terrified. They were going to kill him, after all. For crimes he didn't commit, no less. But mostly, he felt shocked. And angry. And worried, too, but not for himself. He was worried for Al, and Gracia and the girls, and for Mustang's men, too, Havoc and the others. And as for Mustang himself... Edward spared a glance to his left and saw Roy's profile dimly outlined in the light at the tunnel's end. Roy was looking down, his face all but expressionless, burned out and hollow. Ed turned away. However much of a bastard Mustang might be, he didn't deserve this.
Ed bared his teeth in frustration. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
And then a few more steps and they were out, the sudden brightness disorienting, for it was only just past midday, outside. And they were outside; Ed looked around and saw that he was standing in a dingy, dirty alleyway, one of a thousand of it's kind in this city. Mustang was standing to his left, looking around as well. Even he looked puzzled. Ed glanced over his shoulder at the guard standing behind him, a big, burly man in his thirties.
"Hey," Ed said, more bravely than he felt. "Are you gonna execute us here, then? Aren't we supposed to get a last request? Or a cigarette or someth--"
"Shut up," the guard snapped. Ed fell silent, but a few minutes later, he opened his mouth again. This time he was cut off when the guard rapped him sharply on the back of his head with the barrel of his gun: not enough to knock him out, just enough to hurt. A lot. He cursed and almost fell, but managed to catch himself. A lucky break for him, because with his arms incapacitated he wouldn't have been able to get up again, and that ground looked awfully filthy. He knew it was silly to be worrying about getting dirty when he was about to die, but there it was. Human beings are strange things, he thought to himself. Strange, indeed. He didn't open his mouth again.
?Through the whole exchange, Roy had not made a sound, or, as near as Ed could tell, moved at all.
It seemed an eternity, but in reality it was only a few minutes of standing and waiting before a big black truck turned the corner and lumbered up the alleyway towards them. Ed looked at it curiously. It looked like the trucks that had been used to ferry him to and from the prison all through the last month, but it didn't have the military seal on the side or the back; in fact, it was completely unmarked.
Ed knew he'd get in trouble, but he was gonna die anyway... "Hey, isn't the hearse supposed to come after we're dead?" The guard raised his rifle, obviously planning to knock Ed silly, but then there was a loud crashing as some...one... emerged from the back of the truck. Ed found himself staring up, and up, and /up/, at a monstrous suit of armor, nine feet tall at least, taller even than Al. Surely the man inside must have been freakishly huge. And he was closely followed by another armored man, not quite as tall, but no less impressive. And behind them both came a much smaller man, huffing and puffing importantly. ?
"Back away, guards," the man said, in a grating, nasal voice. His round face was red, and his small, piggish eyes were narrowed disdainfully. He wore a white coat over his drab gray clothes. "You're dismissed."
To Ed's amazement, both guards vanished back into the passageway they'd come through. The men in armor came forward to replace them, the taller one wrapping his hands around Ed's arms. Ed was glad he was numb from shoulders to fingertips: that grip looked horribly tight. Ed glared at the fat little man. "What's the big idea?" he snapped. "Why don't you just get the killing over with?"
To his great surprise, the man laughed. "Oh, you're not going to die yet, Full Metal," he said, smirking and writing something on a clipboard. He looked up at the taller man in armor. "Put them on the truck."??"Hey, wait!" Ed shouted, finding himself being roughly pushed towards the back of the truck. "Hey! Where are you taking us!?"
"The Fifth Laboratory," the man said casually, climbing back into the driver's seat.
"I thought we had a death sentence!" Ed called, sounding a bit panicked. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was not knowing what was going to happen next.
"Oh, it is a death sentence," the fat man said cheerfully. "Eventually."
"If you're lucky," the armored man growled, before shoving Ed inside next to Roy, and clanging the doors shut behind them.
The truck's engine rumbled to life, and then it slowly backed up, out of the alley, and disappeared around the corner. Nothing moved for several seconds. Then, a small girl poked her head out from behind a heap of garbage and crates, stacked haphazardly a few feet from where the truck had been parked. She stood up slowly, bracing herself against a crate, as if her legs wouldn't support her on their own.
Nina's heart was pounding, and her face was very pale. "Fifth Laboratory..." she whispered to herself, "Fifth Laboratory... She had to get home. She had to find Alphonse. She had to tell him, /now/.
End of Chapter 11
Everything Goes to Hell
The sun was only just rising over the rolling green hills of Rizenbul, but Winry Rockbell had been awake for hours, toiling away at the workshop behind the house. She wasn't even aware of the time, really; she was so wrapped up in the task at hand that nothing else seemed to matter. It was always that way, with a project that had her excited, and the Trelanni commission was just that. Rio Trelanni was a man in Aquroya who had lost his right leg in an accident, and knew that in such an aquatic, it would be suicide to have metal parts attached to ones body. So he'd come to the Rockbells, said he'd pay them double their normal rate to make him a functional leg that would not sink.
It hadn't been easy. Pinako had given the project entirely to Winry, who had considered everything from air chambers to pumping systems to making it entirely out of wood, but had thrown all of them out, for one reason or another. The solution, she had found, involved a aquadynamic design, small cork plugs at the joints, and a lightweight, rust-resistant alloy she had made with the help of an alchemist she'd met during her apprenticeship in Rush Valley. And now, after days and nights of hard work, the project was nearing completion.
Finally, as the red dawn faded into blue early-morning sky, Winry stood back from her bench and heaved a satisfied sigh. She rested her hands on her hips and grinned at her creation, feeling ridiculously proud - and, now that she wasn't focusing all her energy on this screw or that wire or those connections, very hungry, rather sleepy, and much in need of a bath. She stretched her arms over her head, feeling joints popping all over, and headed into the house, to see to those needs.
At the door, she stepped out of the auto-mail exoskeleton that had encased her right leg, on and off, for the past eight years, ever since the tendons behind her knee were severed by that maniac in Central. The exoskeleton was an invaluable piece of equipment: with a line of work that required long hours standing at the worktable, she'd have been lost with it. But it was heavy and cumbersome, and scratched the smooth wooden floors of the house, and so when she was inside, Winry had to get by with crutches, which were leaning against the door, right where she'd left them. She took them back up now and headed into the house. She'd make a better exoskeleton, one of these days. She'd make it lighter and smaller and more effective, and better all around... as soon as she had the time. She could walk with the auto-mail, could sit under a tree and wade in the river, but she couldn't run or climb or swim. She'd have to see about fixing that, one of these days...
She went outside to collect the morning paper from the front step. A few years ago, a newspaper delivered to one's door would have been unheard of, in Rizenbul at least; but the town was growing, expanding greatly in recent years. It now had its own inn, its own doctor (a job left vacant since Winry's parents had died), it's own post office. Now the Central and East City papers could be received only a day late; two, if the train broke down. It was a wonderful luxury, to be sure. Even if, sometimes, Winry missed her small, quiet town, that had more trees and cows than people. And she definitely wouldn't have been sorry to see the new military recruitment office go.
Still, having the paper delivered was a luxury she much appreciated. She bent to pick it up, and casually scanned the morning headlines. A few moments later, her eyes widened with horror, and she dropped the paper, turning around and hobbling for the stairs as fast as she could, shouting for her grandmother.
TREASON! Flame and Full Metal Alchemists to be Tried for Conspiracy and Murder!
- - - - -
Edward Elric sat in his cell in the Central City lockup, looking resignedly at the opposite wall. This cell looked remarkably similar to the one they'd thrown him in eight years ago, right after the Incident. It might even have been the same one; he wouldn't be surprised.
However, that cell hadn't had armed guards in it day and night, and it was starting to grate on Edward's nerves.
The military had been careless before, but now they were taking no chances, with him or with Roy. It had been almost two weeks since the arrest, and since then there had been at least one guard in Ed's cell at all times. The guards never spoke to Ed, even when he spoke to them; they just watched him, holding their rifles to their chests, unmoving. In the first few days it had made him mad, and he'd shouted at them, angry and frustrated and taking it out on them, but their response to that had been swift and merciless: they'd lunged forward and pinned him against the bed, while another guard administered injections to Ed's shoulders, completely numbing and deadening Ed's arms, hands, and chest for an entire day. He'd have no choice but to lie there, fuming, until the drugs wore off and he could sit up again. And so it had gone, for almost two weeks. The only breaks in the monotony came every few days, when Edward would be freshly injected, handcuffed, put in the back of a truck, and taken to the Central City courthouse, for the trial.
The trial, and the rides to and from, were the only times he saw Mustang, and they never spoke on those occasions, not with guards everywhere. Mustang didn't look very capable of speech, anyway. Every time Ed saw him, the man looked pale and haunted, his expression hollow and his eyes empty. They were being kept at opposite ends of the lockup, so Edward couldn't speak for Mustang's condition the rest of the time, but whenever Ed saw him, he looked half-dead. He might look at Edward, from time to time, but Edward had the impression that Mustang wasn't really seeing him.
Edward didn't particularly want to know what he was seeing.
- - - - -
The trial itself - if it could be called that - was held in the Amestrian Chambers of Justice in the middle of the city. Ed and Roy were required to be present whenever it convened, but were never given a chance to speak. They were permitted only to watch, as exhibit after exhibit was presented, which the State had the audacity to call 'evidence': documents found in Mustang's office, mostly, which supposedly linked him to a treasonous plot to assassinate the Fuhrer, to pave the way for a Drachman invasion, to seize power for himself, and on, and on, and on. And not only did these documents implicate Roy; they also indicted Edward himself, Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Lieutenant Heymans Breda, Warrant Officer Farman, Sergeant Major Fury - even the deceased First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes - as being involved in the 'plot'.
The other major body of evidence came from the testimony of the State's star witness: the Fuhrer's secretary, Miss Juliet Douglas.
Edward had fuzzy memories of Miss Douglas's testimony. Probably because he was so disturbed by her appearance, and the sound of her voice, that he couldn't really concentrate on what she was saying. Miss Douglas told the court that she had been working late at the office, and on her way out, heard sounds of a scuffle in Mustang's office. She looked in just in time to see Edward Elric wrestle Hawkeye's gun away from her, and shoot her at point blank range.
Edward only heard bits and pieces of this. He was far too discomfited by Miss Douglas herself. Her hair, her voice, her eyes, all unnerved him on a level he didn't even want to think about.
The story spun was that Mustang had been planning this insubordination for years, and that four years ago, Hughes had had a change of heart and planned to break away, possibly to inform the government of Mustang's unlawful activities. When Mustang found out about this, he had Hughes killed, which would account for the questionable circumstances of Hughes' death. Years later, when Hawkeye tried to do the same thing, Mustang had her killed as well, this time by Edward himself.
Edward, of course, did not believe a word of it. Even if he hadn't been implicated in the crimes at all, he wouldn't have believed it. Not that he didn't believe Mustang incapable of treason and insubordination; no, Mustang was indeed crafty enough and clever enough for such an undertaking. In fact, Edward would have been surprised if Mustang hadn't been keeping secrets from the government. But ordering the murder of Hughes? Of Hawkeye? Edward would never have believed that. And it enraged him that everyone else so easily did.
Indeed, the people of Amestris seemed all too ready to believe the worst of Mustang, and of Edward. The case was highly publicized (Edward only had to look at the headlines of the papers his guards read to figure that much out) and everyone seemed to easily buy into the story of the corrupt Colonel who had lied, cheated, even murdered, to feed his own ambition, to try to bring down the government. And their ire was not only directed at Roy, not only at Edward, but at the Drachmans as well. Edward could see them in the streets on his way to the courthouse, hear them from his little cell: crowds of angry citizens, waving Amestrian flags and shouting anti-Drachma slogans and howling to strike first, to get those heartless foreigners before they got us.
Edward got a small taste of it, whenever he was brought to the courthouse. The guards and soldiers would part the crowd for Edward and Mustang and the other prisoners to be brought in, and the people behind the barricades would shout, threaten, hurl insults like blows, calling him monster, traitor, murderer.
Inside, it was not much better. Alphonse, Gracia, Nina, and Elysia were present throughout the trial; Edward saw them escorted in and out by armed soldiers. Gracia and Al were both under heavy suspicion, for their connections to Edward, to Roy, to Hughes. Edward heard one of the guards say that Al and Gracia were under house arrest, and were only allowed to go out for purposes of the trial. Many charges were brought against them, but, and Edward thanked whatever deities might be listening for it, none of them were able to stick. Gracia had many friends and neighbors who were all willing to speak for her good character and lawful behavior, and even Juliet Douglas admitted that she had not seen Alphonse present at the time of Hawkeye's murder. And everyone agreed that an eight foot tall man in armor (which, thank God once more, they still believed Alphonse to be) was not exactly designed for steathy subterfuge. So eventually the court had to conclude, if grudgingly, that Gracia and Al were guilty of nothing more than bad luck (and in Gracia's case, an unfortunate taste in men.)
But the same could not be said for Edward, or for Roy and his men.
Edward seethed with rage as the charges were brought, one after the other, an endless parade of lawyers and evidence and testimony, of first, second, third degree murder, of treason and treachery and betrayal and deceit. And never once did Ed have the slightest shred of evidence to refute their accusations. No one could account for his whereabouts on the night of Hawkeye's murder, save for Alphonse, whose testimony was unfortunately still highly suspect.
Of course, even if Ed had had any evidence to redeem himself, he would never have been given a chance to present it. They never even took his statement, but instead referred to 'private testimonies' and 'signed confessions' that Ed clearly recalled having never even seen before, but which the State's attorneys and judges proudly bandied about for the jury and judge. More than once Edward wanted to stand up and shout that this was wrong, this was all a filthy lie, why couldn't anyone see that? But even if his instructions to stay quiet did not deter him, the guns of the guards standing beside Nina, Elysia, and Gracia did. He had no illusions what would happen to them, should he prove uncooperative.
So he and Roy sat there in the defendant's box, surrounded by guards, and watched their world come crashing down.
- - - - -
They called Cain Fury to the stands first thing that morning. Roy watched them bring him up, wide-eyed and trembling, looking small and afraid in his grey prison clothes. They sat him down and began to question him without even giving him a chance to catch his breath.
They didn't yet have a murderer for Hughes. Edward Elric had been blamed for Hawkeye, but there were numerous witnesses, both outside and within the military, who confirmed that Edward had been in East City when Hughes' murder occurred, and Hughes had died in Forein, north of Central.
And Fury had been away from East City that whole week, visiting his parents up in Altima. And Altima was no more than a half-day's walk from Forein. Less, if you drove. And Fury was always so good with machines.
Roy watched helplessly, silently, as they broke Fury down, as they badgered him and hounded him and shouted at him and brought him near tears, while in Roy's mind the prosecutors died a hundred thousand painful deaths.
Fury couldn't speak. He hunched down in his seat, his shoulders quaking, breathing hard, his eyes darting around the courtroom.
"I say again, Mister Fury!" the lead attorney shouted, his face red and angry as he pounded on the witness stand, "Do you admit to having murdered Maes Hughes, in cold blood, on the orders of Roy Mustang!?" The man pointed a quivering finger at Roy, but his eyes were still locked on Fury's face.
Desperately, Fury looked up at Roy, the tears in his brown eyes threatening to spill over. Seeking comfort, seeking reassurance, seeking /anything/. But there was nothing Roy had to give him. No comfort, no reassurance, no hope. He just looked back at Fury, his dark eyes empty and sad.
Fury dropped his gaze, and then started to cry, in front of the judge, the lawyers, the entire courtroom. He curled up in his seat, his choked sobs the only sound in the huge room, and Roy's heart broke for him. He never wanted this for Fury. He never wanted this for any of them. They'd known the risks when they decided to follow him - Roy had made damn sure they knew - but he still couldn't believe it could really end like this. Not like /this/.
They'd brought him in to identify the body, before they sent him to the lockup. He'd strode in confident and angry, still in some way not believvng it to be true - but when they pulled back the sheet and he saw that pale, naked, dead thing underneath, all that was left of his Lieutenant, his Riza Hawkeye, perhaps the only person in the world who really knew him anymore... all the strength had gone out of him. All the passion, all the courage, all the fire in him had died, snuffed out by an icy breath of wind.
There was nothing he could do. There was nothing any of them could do. They were trapped, powerless. Someone had gotten them, and gotten them good, and he didn't know why and he didn't know who, and the worst part was that he would probably never know.
?They were going to win. Those bastards who'd done this to him, to all of them - to Hawkeye, to Edward, to Fury and the others, even to Hughes - they were going to get away with it. The recognition of that made Roy sick.
He watched Fury cry, and felt his own despair flowing through him. They'd lost. After all that, they had lost. There seemed to be no way out of this trap, and the worst part of it was the knowledge that it was all his fault.
- - - - -
It seemed like an eternity of helpless watching and waiting, but in reality it was only a month before the sentences were handed down. The iron-faced judge read them to the deathly silent courtroom on a cold February morning. For Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Lieutenant Heymans Breda, and Warrant Officer Vateau Farman, for treason and 3rd degree murder: life in prison. For Sergeant Major Cain Fury, for treason, 3rd degree murder, and 1st degree murder, life in prison as well, commuted from the death sentence because of his youth and the likelihood that he was under duress at the time of the murder.
For Major Edward Elric, for treason and 3rd and 1st degree murder; and for Colonel Roy Mustang, for 3rd degree murder and treason of the highest order: death.
- - - - -
As the last word fell upon the deathly silent courtroom, a howl suddenly arose from the balcony. There was a sudden commotion as a half a dozen guards rushed forward to restrain Alphonse, who had lunged forward, screaming Edward's name, and was attempting to fight his way off the edge of the balcony and down to his brother. Edward saw the guards rushing around, waving their guns, grabbing a hold of Elysia, Nina, and Gracia, and knew what would happen if Al continued to behave this way. He couldn't let that happen.
"Al!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the din of the courtroom. "Alphonse Elric, you stop that right this instant!"
Amazingly, Alphonse did. Edward's voice reached him somehow, and he stopped fighting, though he did not budge from the edge of the balcony, despite the guards' best efforts to dislodge him. Al looked down at him, gripping the balcony railing very tightly. Most people wouldn't be able to tell, but Edward had known Alphonse for almost twenty years. He could see that his brother was terrified. "Calm down, Al," Edward said. He didn't have to shout anymore; the courtroom had gone very quiet.
"Brother..." There was a pleading note in Al's voice, a helplessness that Ed never wanted to hear in Al's voice again.
"Don't worry about me," Ed told him, trying to keep his own voice steady.
"But -- "
"/Don't/, Al," Ed said forcefully. "There's nothing you can do for me now. Worry about /them/." He glanced over at Gracia and the girls. Gracia and Elysia were holding each other tight; Elysia was crying, and Gracia's face as buried in her daughter's hair. Nina was looking from him to Al and back again, her eyes wide with horror. "Take care of them, Al," Edward said firmly.
"But Brother --"
"No buts, Al," Edward insisted, glaring up at his brother. "You have to do this. You have to take care of them. And take care of yourself." He swallowed, but his throat felt dry. "There's nothing you can do for me, now."
"Brother..." Al made a sound like a strangled sob and sank to his knees with a crash, as if they wouldn't support him anymore. All of a sudden the noise started up again, quietly at first, then all of a sudden crescendoing into an uproar; the judge was banging his gavel and howling for order, the guards were shouting and the people in the courtroom were all abuzz. Edward could hear newspaper boys in the streets, already shouting the outcome and hocking their rags: State Alchemists found guilty! Treason of the highest order! Flame and Full Metal sentenced to die!
And through it all, Edward saw Nina tear herself away from the guards and start to run, away from the balcony towards the stairs. Gracia shouted after her, trying to call her back, but the girl wouldn't listen - and then rough hands were on Edward, turning him around and rushing him out, pushing him along and making him stumble down the steps to the corridor that ran behind the courtroom, his arms hanging like dead things in their stocks.
The corridor quickly became very dark, the ground underneath Ed's feet cold and rather damp. He could hear another set of bare feet padding along a few feet away - Roy - and two matching pairs of booted steps echoing off the stone walls. But Edward could see not a thing.
The guards seemed to know where they were going, though, because Ed suddenly felt himself being yanked down one side passage, then another, and another, and then, suddenly, there was dim light ahead of him.
He knew, rationally, that he should be terrified. They were going to kill him, after all. For crimes he didn't commit, no less. But mostly, he felt shocked. And angry. And worried, too, but not for himself. He was worried for Al, and Gracia and the girls, and for Mustang's men, too, Havoc and the others. And as for Mustang himself... Edward spared a glance to his left and saw Roy's profile dimly outlined in the light at the tunnel's end. Roy was looking down, his face all but expressionless, burned out and hollow. Ed turned away. However much of a bastard Mustang might be, he didn't deserve this.
Ed bared his teeth in frustration. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
And then a few more steps and they were out, the sudden brightness disorienting, for it was only just past midday, outside. And they were outside; Ed looked around and saw that he was standing in a dingy, dirty alleyway, one of a thousand of it's kind in this city. Mustang was standing to his left, looking around as well. Even he looked puzzled. Ed glanced over his shoulder at the guard standing behind him, a big, burly man in his thirties.
"Hey," Ed said, more bravely than he felt. "Are you gonna execute us here, then? Aren't we supposed to get a last request? Or a cigarette or someth--"
"Shut up," the guard snapped. Ed fell silent, but a few minutes later, he opened his mouth again. This time he was cut off when the guard rapped him sharply on the back of his head with the barrel of his gun: not enough to knock him out, just enough to hurt. A lot. He cursed and almost fell, but managed to catch himself. A lucky break for him, because with his arms incapacitated he wouldn't have been able to get up again, and that ground looked awfully filthy. He knew it was silly to be worrying about getting dirty when he was about to die, but there it was. Human beings are strange things, he thought to himself. Strange, indeed. He didn't open his mouth again.
?Through the whole exchange, Roy had not made a sound, or, as near as Ed could tell, moved at all.
It seemed an eternity, but in reality it was only a few minutes of standing and waiting before a big black truck turned the corner and lumbered up the alleyway towards them. Ed looked at it curiously. It looked like the trucks that had been used to ferry him to and from the prison all through the last month, but it didn't have the military seal on the side or the back; in fact, it was completely unmarked.
Ed knew he'd get in trouble, but he was gonna die anyway... "Hey, isn't the hearse supposed to come after we're dead?" The guard raised his rifle, obviously planning to knock Ed silly, but then there was a loud crashing as some...one... emerged from the back of the truck. Ed found himself staring up, and up, and /up/, at a monstrous suit of armor, nine feet tall at least, taller even than Al. Surely the man inside must have been freakishly huge. And he was closely followed by another armored man, not quite as tall, but no less impressive. And behind them both came a much smaller man, huffing and puffing importantly. ?
"Back away, guards," the man said, in a grating, nasal voice. His round face was red, and his small, piggish eyes were narrowed disdainfully. He wore a white coat over his drab gray clothes. "You're dismissed."
To Ed's amazement, both guards vanished back into the passageway they'd come through. The men in armor came forward to replace them, the taller one wrapping his hands around Ed's arms. Ed was glad he was numb from shoulders to fingertips: that grip looked horribly tight. Ed glared at the fat little man. "What's the big idea?" he snapped. "Why don't you just get the killing over with?"
To his great surprise, the man laughed. "Oh, you're not going to die yet, Full Metal," he said, smirking and writing something on a clipboard. He looked up at the taller man in armor. "Put them on the truck."??"Hey, wait!" Ed shouted, finding himself being roughly pushed towards the back of the truck. "Hey! Where are you taking us!?"
"The Fifth Laboratory," the man said casually, climbing back into the driver's seat.
"I thought we had a death sentence!" Ed called, sounding a bit panicked. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was not knowing what was going to happen next.
"Oh, it is a death sentence," the fat man said cheerfully. "Eventually."
"If you're lucky," the armored man growled, before shoving Ed inside next to Roy, and clanging the doors shut behind them.
The truck's engine rumbled to life, and then it slowly backed up, out of the alley, and disappeared around the corner. Nothing moved for several seconds. Then, a small girl poked her head out from behind a heap of garbage and crates, stacked haphazardly a few feet from where the truck had been parked. She stood up slowly, bracing herself against a crate, as if her legs wouldn't support her on their own.
Nina's heart was pounding, and her face was very pale. "Fifth Laboratory..." she whispered to herself, "Fifth Laboratory... She had to get home. She had to find Alphonse. She had to tell him, /now/.
End of Chapter 11
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