Fic: Völuspá (Battlefield 3/3) (Fullmetal Alchemist)

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Title: Völuspá (Battlefield part 3/3)
Category: Drama, heavy Angst, h/c, Romance
Rating: R for the angst and mentions of death and violence.
Warnings: Death, violence, war.
Characters/Pairings: Winry/Edward, Al
A/N: It's finished! Sorry for the sort-of long wait. And I hope you're satisfied with this ending :) Thank-you all for the support!
Summary: Their lives are battlefields. Part three: They come back home and everything's fine. Only, it isn't.

Part two

 

Völuspá

 

The war seems to end as abruptly as it has started. One day it is raging on, and the next the words we are free are echoing across the distance, leaving people to celebrate all night long.

The next few months are a painful realization that the war may be over, but the damage is still here. Winry’s shoulders shake as she fixes another automail limb and if it wasn’t for the fact that she is now needed, like she’s never been needed before in her life (not since fiery golden eyes in a broken young face), she thinks she would give up and start crying or maybe just die. She can’t even walk outside for a break: she can’t see the flowers in the spring, can’t look at the grass or the trees or the patterns in their carpet. There are no colours in her world anymore, just the dull edge of silver and grey, sliding through everything, destroying and strangling the very life around her.

But her grandma’ is still here and, somewhere, out there, Ed and Al are still alive and she twists and turns, feels the dry rust beneath her fingers, the sleek metal, the cold tools that she uses to bring some semblance of life back into lost soldiers and civilians eyes. Count on me, she thinks, lean on me; borrow the strength that I do not have.

They do and she finds that she can handle it, can twist and turn the bolts until everything fits and she wakes up one morning and realizes that the war is ending. One day at a time.

 

oOo

 

It’s not quite the same on the battlefield. There are still rebellions, their enemies too large in number to just give up, even after admitting defeat. There’s the horrible aftermath, as Edward lets steel meet’s flesh and sees President Bradley’s un-life seep away in front of his eyes.

He stays silent and supportive as Roy is elected, wonders what Winry is thinking, what will happen now. There is the odd sensation of Al standing next to him and it is only odd because of the heat radiating from his brother’s body. He wonders if it was worth it, as he looks at Al’s face and sees sadness and sorrow. Was it worth it, getting this body back, only for it to be tainted by blood and death?

“I’m sorry, “Al had said, after he’d pulled and gripped and fought in the Gate and they’d gotten out, bruised and battered and in the middle of a battle-field, but alive. “I’m sorry we didn’t get your arm and leg back.”

Edward’s sorry too. He’s sorry that their mother died and that they tried to bring her back. He’s sorry that their father left and didn’t come back until it was too late. He’s sorry that Winry’s parents are dead and that their murderer is too. He’s sorry that soldiers have to kill to be soldiers, and that the highest powers give medals and honor’s to those that kills the most.

He’s sorry that the world is a raging fire of chaos and emptiness, of stupid and greedy people in charge. But he’s not sorry that the now so familiar weight of his automail is still there. It’s like the burden he has to share, for everything that he has done wrong. Couldn’t save your mother and your brother and Winry and what do you have now?

“Soldiers! At ease.”

Dog of the Military. Wolf in the pack. Soldier in the ranks. Killer. Murderer.

He salutes the newly-elected President Mustang and wonders when the world tipped and things started looking brighter. It might be when the war ended, but he can’t remember when it did or if it actually has. It’s still in him: he can’t stand with his back to the door, he feels followed, his hands are shaking when he sits still and he wakes up with nightmares more horrible than anything involving his mother.

It’s such a shame you couldn’t fix me, Edward, says the child caught in the gun-fire, a girl of no more than ten. It’s a shame that you killed all these people.

Edward leaves his watch and resignation behind and boards the next train to Risembool, Al a comforting shadow by his side.

 

oOo

 

They come back home and everything’s fine.

Winry gets to see Al actually smiling, ruffles his golden hair and hugs him tight and then breaks down crying when she sees Ed’s limb, because the glint of metal should not be there, should not be anywhere near him.

She sits quietly as they tell her about Scar, about how he died saving Hawkeye’s life and she wonders what would have happened if she had pulled the trigger that day, and when she says so, Edward’s jaw tenses and he leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Al says and Winry thinks that he has nothing to be sorry for, until she sees the look in his eyes and it clicks and fits into place and she goes oh, and nearly starts crying again.

She finds Edward later, in the evening, when she’s done assuring Al that she doesn’t blame him, that it’s alright, that she loves him, has always loved him, he’s practically her brother for God’s sake.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” Is all Edward mutters and when he stands to leave again, Winry places a hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle and prays that he can’t heir the tremor in her voice.

“Yes you should. You’re home now. This is where you belong.”

The kiss is almost an afterthought – not that she hasn’t spent several nights thinking about what a kiss with Edward would be like – but when he hesitantly starts to respond, the gentles feeling of soft against soft, she feels like a stone has dropped from her chest and she can see the world in colours again.

It doesn’t matter if he’s killed. It doesn’t matter if he’s just a broken shell of the boy – man – he used to be. If anything, the war taught Winry that she is good at fixing things.

 

oOo

 

There’s peace for the first time since anyone can remember, and it’s like watching a miracle unfold, one step, one day, one year at a time.

Before they know it, the ruins of attacks have been rebuilt and people have started smiling to each other when they pass on the streets again. Winry actually stops the first day she hears music streaming down from one of the windows and she thinks she hasn’t heard that melody – famous and soft, one she used to listen to when she was young and happy – since the war started. Since before that, actually.

The war is over. And she’s terrified. She’s pretty sure Edward is too, judging by the look on his face and it doesn’t help when Al makes a comment about how dropping infants isn’t a good idea, but then the child opens his eyes and they’re golden and Winry smiles wider than she has since she was seven and playing around with her two best friends.

“Welcome home,” Al tells the child and Winry can hear her heart beat in a steady rhythm. Years later, when her son is playing with her daughters and Edward is ripping out hair in impatience as they yet again manage to steal his automail leg, she thinks that if she ever thought of an outcome – any outcome – from the war, this isn’t one of them. For some reason, ever since her boys left all she has been able to see are pain and death and the harsh burden of looking out for someone who could die any second.

This world, in where Edward still wakes, shaking and sobbing from nightmares, in where she still pauses in her work and wonders what the hell she’s doing, this world where they were broken and shattered in million pieces and un-evenly put together until they fit, this world has offered her more than anything she could ever hope to ask for.

 

-END-

 Völuspá: (Prophecy of the Völva; Modern Icelandic), is the first poem of the Poetic Edda. It tells the story of the creation of the world and its coming end related by a völva addressing Odin. It also details the re-birth of a new world, following the destruction of the old one (Ragnarök).