Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edward was slumped against Darius, trying to keep his panic at bay. Heinkel knelt before him, gripping the rebar that was speared entirely through his torso and watching Ed’s panting with a creased brow. This was the worst injury Ed ever received, probably one of the worst any of them had seen—he knew he had to act fast.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Ed said and braced his arms just above where the rebar was protruding, readying a clap.

He had barely a second of centering his thoughts, viewing himself as a single mass of energy when Heinkel began to pull and Ed felt like he was being stabbed anew. His body jerked, and he yelled involuntarily, focusing all of his energy to mentally prepare for the transmutation. It would be like when he was trapped inside Gluttony and had used a traditional philosopher’s stone. Only difference was this time, he was a single soul.

After an eternity of pulling, the rebar broke free of his side and Ed sagged for a moment before clapping. Blue sparks of the transmutation surrounded him. Clenching his teeth, he thrust his hands to his wound, focusing on his energy. He could feel the tissues knitting themselves together, but there was still so much damage. Ed knew he was a bit too close to death. Pulling more from his soul, he pleaded with the transmutation in a way that felt a little too similar to human transmutation. His side sparked with pain again, but Ed refocused himself, pushing through it. He was a philosopher’s stone. It was a fair price, giving up his life force, and he would not give that bastard another opportunity to snatch a limb.

And of course, it was at that moment, when he was pulling back the transmutation, having accomplished as much as he could on his own, that he felt it. Small hands tugged at him, pulling him away from Heinkel and Darius. Edward screamed as the mine shaft disappeared around him.

Along with his surroundings, the pain disappeared as well, but Ed felt all the worse for it. He now faced a sickening endless white, with a stone gate facing him, and a white figure standing in front, completely shapeless other than a grin. For a moment, Ed couldn’t breathe. No, this couldn’t be happening. He’d been careful. He’d made a fair trade. The initial thrill of shock and fear was quickly replaced however.

“I was using a philosopher’s stone!” Ed shouted as his whole body tensed, ready for a fight.

The white figure, Truth, remained unnaturally still as their mouth moved dramatically and said, “It was still a human transmutation.”

“But I paid the toll,” Edward grit out. He had been so sure it would work, and his mind raced with the implications. Was there something about his transmutation that failed the Law of Equivalent Exchange? Or was there somehow a case where a soul, pure energy, wouldn’t be a fair trade? It went against everything Ed knew about Alchemy. As his mind raced, his body stiffened further, anticipating the shit response Truth would give. What would this cost him? If he was lucky, it would just be another limb, but given his situation, that would still kill him.

Truth’s head tilted. They still wore a grin, but something about it felt different from the last time he was here, tighter almost. “Someone else brought you to me,” Truth said, gesturing, and Ed noticed something that he’d never seen before—a pool on the ground. It was lined in gray stone, identical in look to his gate, but wholly unfamiliar and something he’d never heard mention in any book.

“What is that?” Ed asked, trying to peer into it without stepping closer. It had a perfectly smooth surface and was too reflective to just contain water. It almost looked like it was filled with liquid silver if there wasn’t a transparency to it.

“This is the way you’ll be leaving this place,” Truth announced, far too smugly.

That seemed like a horrid idea. He had no clue what was in front of him, but everything screamed at him not to get even a step closer. “No. I use the gate.”

“Normally, yes.” Ed debated smacking the smile right off of Truth’s face. “But someone else has tempered with your transmutation. Your gate won’t open.”

“Who tempered with it?” Ed demanded, feeling the heat rise to his face, as Truth seemed to grin wider.

“Are you offering an exchange of information?”

“Fuck no,” Ed shouted, as his whole body recoiled at the thought of making another deal with Truth. “I shouldn’t be here. I never wanted to see you again. I used a stone!”

“The price of your philosopher’s stone was sufficient for your healing.”

“Then why am I here?!” Truth responded only with that same forced grin. Ed shivered. “Let me out of here.”

Truth gestured again towards the pool. “This is the way.”

“I’m not going in that. I can’t swim.” Truth laughed and Ed, resolving himself to do whatever he could to get away, started towards his gate. Al needed him. Whatever was in that pool, Ed was sure it wouldn’t be Al.

He started towards his gate, determined to pry the damned thing open, but Truth said, “You don’t have a choice.”

And then his gate pulled back rapidly. Ed sprinted after it, but it accelerated further away. It was barely a speck when he finally stopped running. He spun, ready to scream at Truth again, but Truth was already behind him, pool alongside.

“It’s time,” Truth announced and black hands, poured out of the cracks in the base of the pool, wriggling their way towards him.

“What is it?” Ed asked frantically. “Where will it take me?”

“You will see soon enough.”

That wasn’t enough. He couldn’t go into that pool. Desperate, he said something he never thought he would. “I’ll make a deal. Let me go through my gate,” Ed shouted, but the hands continued towards him.

“I can not make that deal.”

“Aren’t you god?”

The hands were still for half a moment, as Truth said, “Even I am bound by rules.”

That was a terrifying thought—something Truth couldn’t do. “What rules?”

“Your world is bound by the law of Equivalent Exchange. Who is to say that is the only law?”

Your world. Ed’s heart rate spiked, and the hands grabbed hold.

“It’s time, Little Alchemist.”

Ed turned away, but the hands pulled, sending him to his knees. “I can’t,” he pleaded, as he began to be dragged backwards. “Alphonse needs me.”

Truth didn’t budge and said, cruelly, “Neither of us has a choice.” But suddenly, his gate appeared behind Truth again, and along with it was Al’s body.

“Al! Alphonse!”

Al’s face turned towards him. He was still too gaunt, hair and nails too long, but it was the sight of what he desired most. His brother as he should be.

Truth continued. “If you find yourself before me again, it means you have circumvented this law. For that, you'll be allowed passage through your gate. No extra cost.”

That should have filled Ed with excitement—Truth was essentially promising to give him Al’s body, but everything about this situation was wrong. He screamed for Al again. When the hands had gotten him to the edge of the pool, Ed knew he was helpless.

“I’ll be back Al. I promise!” The gaunt face gave a small smile.

As his body was dragged into the pool’s contents, Truth peered down at him.

“Farewell, Edward Elric.”

He didn’t splash into the pool; the contents were much too thick. It swallowed him, sucking him quickly beneath the surface. It was viscous and hard to move around in, but Ed sunk fast. He plummeted through the pool, reaching wildly for a handhold and failing. Truth’s whiteness gave way to flashes and streaks of white until even those faded to pinpricks of light in the distance.

Time was irrelevant, and nothing felt real. It was the same overwhelming feeling as traveling through the gate, even if the knowledge wasn’t drilling into his head. He was seeing the whole of the universe as he fell. The all-encompassing thickness lessened until it felt like falling through water, then air.

The spots of light disappeared, and Ed felt his speed increase. A fresh wave of panic filled him, terrified of the momentum he was building and the complete darkness that surrounded him.

And suddenly, Ed was stationary. There was no crashing. No Ed-sized crater showing his impact on the ground. The fall had just stopped. He gasped in a breath, and as his head spun, overwhelmed by the onslaught of his senses, his eyes shot wildly around him, trying and failing to take in the new surroundings.

Then the pain came. The exact spot where the rebar had skewered him screamed in agony. His hands flew instinctively to his stomach as he curled in on himself. A quick glance told him he was on a cold, stone floor in the middle of something that looked suspiciously like an array etched into it. Scrambling backward, Ed still clutched his side, terrified of getting caught in the array if it activated. He struggled to get his feet under him but kicked himself far enough to be free of the carved radius and pressed himself up against a stack of books.

Feeling a lot less exposed, Ed looked around again, finally catching sight of another man. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, wearing a white cloak that draped onto the floor. His long hair and beard were worn freely and his old face was so stern that Ed did not know if he was pissed or was just his normal face. Either way, he readied his hands to clap.

The man strode forward slowly, speaking in a language Ed didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” Ed asked. The man responded with another string of unintelligible words. He tried again. “Can you understand me?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed as he said something else. It was unlike any language he knew. Too many consonants to be Drachman and too few tones to be Xingese.

“Fuck.” Ed scanned the room again, remembering Mustang’s training. The exit was clear enough—there was a bolted door on the far side. Windows lined the circular room, but they were partially covered, allowing nothing more than light through. Probably not the best option for escape. The whole place was dark and creepy, and not in a good aesthetic way. It was in a way that reminded him of a building that should be condemned. The only redeeming factor was the number of books and notes scattered about the room, but even those wouldn’t convince Ed to stay around.

Truth had said someone had tempered with the array and this creepy ass man was looking to be the culprit. The array on the floor, even if all the symbols were wrong and completely unfamiliar, was fairly damning evidence.

“Did you do this?” Ed asked, pointing down at the floor.

The man spoke again and then knelt, reaching for the array, but Ed wasn’t about to give him a chance to activate it. He clapped and pressed his hands to the stone, sending a ripple of spikes through the array, forcing the man backward a few steps.

A wave of dizziness crashed into Ed, but he was far more concerned about the old man’s reaction. He went from shock, glancing between the new spikes decorating his lair, to Ed. Then his face twisted, somehow perfectly combining fear and fury. The man shouted, but Ed was already moving, thankful his legs seemed willing to cooperate. It wasn’t far to the doors, and he stumbled into them, letting his automail shoulder act as a battering ram. He barged through the door only to be forced to skid to a stop.

Ed knew there was a chance he wasn’t on the ground floor, but he hadn’t mentally prepared to be this high up. The doors opened to a balcony that overlooked a scarred terrain. Deep pockets were torn into the ground, glowing with fire. Echoes of metal clanking, shouting, and roaring furnaces amassed into a buzzing that filled the air. What kind of hell had Truth banished him too?

A force pulled at his ankles and Ed smacked heavily into the ground, causing his wound to flare with pain again. His hands instinctively moved to clap, and blinking away the pain, he turned back to the man.

His staff was pointing right at Ed and when he spoke, jabbing the staff forward, an invisible force knocked Ed’s head back to the stone.

Was he transmuting the air? “What are you doing?” Ed shouted, panicked. He couldn’t move his head off the floor.

The man held up a hand and said something sternly. It looked almost like a peaceful gesture, or at least a sign to get Ed to temper himself, but Ed wasn’t in the mood. Something screamed at him to get out and get back to Al.

His head couldn’t move, but his arms were still free. He clapped and transformed the floor underneath the man into spikes. The old man was forced backward into his desk, and the moment his staff lowered, Ed was free. He tried to get back to the balcony. He could transmute a slide to get out of this tower, and then, well, he’d figure it out once he got to the ground.

The first problem with that plan, was when he tried to stand, he wobbled, stumbling back to the floor. The last transmutation had taken a large portion of his energy. Energy that was in short supply after his near-death experience.

He pushed himself forward, readying a clap that would transform the tower to lower him to the ground when a force knocked him back. That damned staff. Ed tried to turn and bring his hands together to transmute, aiming to knock the bastard’s staff out one of the windows, but his arms were pinned to the ground. Apparently, the man had learned.

Ed’s head spun from the last hit, his side screamed, and no matter how hard Ed clung to the adrenaline, his last sight was of the man looming over him. He gave his best attempt at a scowl and then lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

There was a breeze against Ed’s face and then there was a sudden, jolting pain in his side, causing him to groan. The impalement flashed through his mind along with everything that followed—Truth, the tower, and the crazy, hostile old man. For one moment, Ed allowed himself hope that had all been some pain-induced hallucination, but of course, it wasn’t.

A grey blob was kneeling beside him and, rolling backward and away from the figure, Ed grunted as his side flared up worse. The opposing figure, revealing himself as a man, leaned back, held up his hands, and said something unintelligible. It took Ed a stunned moment to realize this wasn’t the same man as earlier. He was just as old, but that’s about where the similarities ended. Where the other had been covered in white, this geezer was entirely dressed in grey, was filthy and, frankly, looked like he was about to keel over at any second. More unsettling, the man’s hands had traces of blood on them. Had this creep been touching him?

Grey Beard kept his hands raised and watched Ed’s face, clearly trying to anticipate his next move. Ed’s heart pounded as his mind raced. The buzzing air surrounding them was enough of a hint that he hadn’t gone far from the last time he was awake, but he needed to confirm.

While throwing warning glances at Grey Beard, he slid a few paces backward to the ledge. Ed knew they were high above ground, but that didn’t stop his stomach from flipping as he leaned over into the open air. He was even higher than the balcony before. The bastard had put him on the top of the tower.

Ed stood, determined to walk the perimeter and find either the stairs down or some trap door, but on the first step, he wobbled and Grey Beard stood with a shout. It was a warning, probably something like, get away from the edge, you idiot, so you don’t fall to a painful death.

But Ed could handle worse than this, so he braced himself up on one of the tower’s spires and mumbled a, “Yeah, yeah,” back at Grey Beard, and kept walking. There was nothing. No door, stairs, or otherwise indication of how he had gotten up here. His best chance now was a transmutation, but it was a long way to the ground. A transmutation that size wouldn’t just be annoying, but risky considering a fall at this height would leave his skull cracked open. He needed the transmutation to be stable, but he wasn’t even sure what material he was working with.

Ed sat near the ledge, needing to pool his waning energy into thinking. He knew he could solve the transmutation problem. The far bigger issue was what to do afterward since he had no idea where he was. The terrain below didn’t feel like Amestris. His alchemy had felt different, and he’d never heard of a tower like this or read about the landscape below. If Truth’s cryptic statements were to be believed, he might be in a different world entirely.

Had he been in better condition, Ed would have gone straight to the forest beyond the burning pits, living off whatever resources existed, but his injury limited him. He needed a doctor or antibiotics. Even clean water would have been a good start.

He looked back over at Grey Beard, debating how useful it would be to try to communicate with him. He had dropped his shoulders, apparently relieved that Ed was no longer in danger of falling to his death. Looks were deceiving and while this man seemed a hell of a lot more calm than the last, Ed still didn’t know if he was friend or foe. At a minimum, he would probably be a distraction in Ed’s escape, but something about the situation made him uneasy. He was stuck here too, so maybe the enemy of my enemy is my friend applied.

Feeling overwhelmed, Ed turned back to the material of the tower—a problem he could solve. He had just started testing the stone, tapping and trying to scrape it when Grey Beard spoke. Again, it was the same nonsense.

“What the hell are you saying?” Ed said, a permanent grimace on his face from the pain. Grey Beard stood and started towards him.

Ed’s hands flew up. “Stay away from me! I am not about to let you try to murder me like the last freak.”

Thankfully, he froze, tilting his head, and murmured something else. Ed shook his head. Grey Beard paused and then spoke again.

“I don’t understand,” Ed told him.

The old man nodded sadly and went back to sitting on the far side of the tower.

It was difficult to focus. Between the pain in his side, the growing panic, and Grey Beard’s stares, it was challenging to get lost in his research. Almost unwillingly, his mind kept going toward Truth and the gate. He needed to solve this for Al.

A strategy started to form. Truth had made it seem like there was some other power interfering, but at its core, it was the transmutation circle that he had landed in that brought him here. He only needed to find a way to reverse it. His memory was good, but he needed to analyze the engraving, preferably when he wasn’t fighting for his life.

He also discovered that the tower was at least partially obsidian. He even transmuted it, much to Grey Beard’s amazement, and it behaved exactly like he thought it would. But something else had to be supporting. Obsidian was too soft to support the weight of a tower this size, so Ed kept glancing over the side, trying to tell if the material changed at any point.

Eventually deciding he’d gathered as much information as he could, Ed settled down and looked at his wound. He pulled up the tattered shirt, and while it seemed to have stopped bleeding, it didn’t hurt any less. The skin was superficially pulled together and was already pulling apart and scabbing over in places. He wished he could reinforce it with stitches and more than that, he hoped his movement hadn’t affected the internal healing.

Then night came. Thoroughly drained, Ed clapped and transmuted the stone into a subtle curve so it was slightly more comfortable and laid back. Tomorrow, he’d feel better, and provided Grey Beard didn’t try to kill him in his sleep, he’d get back to that circle and get a way back to Al.

Ed slept uneasily, and by the next morning, it became apparent he should have escaped the day before.

He never fell into a deep sleep between how exposed he felt and the throbbing pain. He felt miserable, and worse, he felt warm. Despite the chill in the air, his side radiated heat. It was clearly the start of an infection and considering Grey Beard didn’t seem the type to be hiding antibiotics in his robes, Ed felt genuine fear. He needed to clean the wound, get hydrated, and rest properly, but he had no way to do so.

He should have left that day, but before he’d built up the resolve, the rain came. It felt like an omen to keep him in place, but it might have just been his tiredness that kept him on the tower. As the sprinkle turned to a downpour, he transmuted a stone bowl, wide enough to capture a fair amount of rainwater, but with a lip on one side, making it easier to drink.

Grey Beard had yet to try and talk to him again, but he gawked at the bowl. Feeling generous, Ed clapped again.

“Here,” he said and sent the bowl sliding across the stone to Grey Beard. The man stared before slowly reaching for it, and then, following Ed’s lead, placed it beside himself to collect the rainwater. He said a short, single phrase. 

“You’re welcome,” Ed replied, letting himself rest against a spire.

They spent the day sipping from the bowls and watching the sky. Ed mentally tore apart what he could remember of the circle that brought him here and desperately wished he had his notebook. Night came, and Ed slept, trying to ignore the dread pooling in his gut.

On the third day, he woke to Grey Beard hovering again. Ed felt his head spin and knew he was in trouble when he didn’t have the energy to pull away. All he had in him was a string of curses that Grey Beard ignored.

The next few hours were odd. Ed only knew time had passed because of the sun. Whenever he finally convinced himself he should move, he lost his train of thought and dosed off. He would have been terrified of his state if he wasn’t so damned tired.

The next thing he knew clearly was that White Beard was on top of the tower. It jolted him out of his haze. How had he gotten up here? Ed slowly righted himself and White Beard snapped at him raising his staff. Before Ed could clap, Grey Beard shouted and moved to step between them.

White Beard stepped forward, anger flaring, and whacked Grey Beard hard with his staff. In another smooth movement, he swung his staff around and Grey Beard was pulled backward by an invisible force until only his feet touched the tower and the rest of him dangled off the edge. Ed blinked. He was about to see a man fall to his death if he didn’t act.

But his reactions were slow, and again before he had the chance to clap, White Beard swung the staff and flipped him forcefully and face-first back on the stone. Ed debated. This was his chance to escape. The other two were distracted, but he wasn’t used to leaving a crippled old man in the hands of a maniac. Grey Beard was stuck up here and Ed, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the man, didn’t want to see him killed.

The problem was that Grey Beard seemed intent on killing himself. In the next moment, he flung himself off the tower. White Beard, ran to the edge and Ed’s mouth fell open. Movement from the opposite side of the tower caught his eye and at that moment, Ed knew the fever must have fully set in. A giant bird swept low over the stone, talons extended and reaching for him.

Ed screamed as he rolled away. The bird squawked, having only brushed his back, and flew off. White Beard joined in with a yell of his own as he stormed toward Ed, but the roll had taken him right to the edge of the tower. Despite his efforts to dig in his automail to catch himself, he fell.

As he tumbled off the edge, he flipped painfully, trying to get close enough to the tower to transmute, but his reaction was sluggish, and he was falling too fast. Panic numbed his thoughts as he fell, but only for a second as the same giant eagle appeared just above him. Its talons dug into his wound and he howled.

From that point, fuzziness filled his mind. He wasn’t sure of much other than the very real chance that he was doing to be bird food and that a familiar grey blob was riding a bird next to him.

Gandalf stood overlooking the falls of Rivendell, feeling physically better than he had in a long while, but uncertainty swelled inside him. Uncertainty was something he usually embraced. It was important to let opportunities come and go, letting fate flow, but this was different. This was an unknown that, despite his years, he feared.

Elrond asked, “You say this man has magic?”

Gandalf hummed. “It was something unnatural. He clapped his hands together and the tower itself transformed. Saruman doesn’t possess that skill. None of my order do.”

“He clapped? I assume the arm had something to do with it.”

Gandalf nodded. “It is another mystery. I daresay even the dwarves would be fascinated by such a creation, but it seems beyond their skill.”

Elrond paused for a moment before speaking again. “His circumstances concern me.”

“The mere fact that Saruman was afraid comforts me. It was a panic I had not seen from him. I do not know what side has his allegiance, I simply know that it is not with Isengard.” That was the only reason he’d urged the Eagles to bring the man with him. He was dangerous, yes, but also too young to be left in the hands of Saruman. It had been two days since his arrival and while rest and the presence of the elves had returned much of his energy, the young man was still in a terrible state, yet to awake. 

“What of his injury?” he asked Elrond. 

“It is grave, but I suspect he will live. It was partially healed.” Gandalf had noticed the same when examining the wound.

"Do you think it was Saruman’s doing?”

“I cannot say. It did not reek of darkness, only a natural festering.”

Gandalf gripped the edge of the rail, missing the feel of his staff. “Then we wait for him to wake. He could be a shifting power in this conflict, and I do not wish to make any decisions until we know his intentions.”

Elrond frowned. “Can you judge intentions?”

Gandalf saw the jab for what it was. “I was blind, but I have no ties to this man. I will have a say in his future.”

“As you say, but it is my people who will wether your decision. It is yet another reason why we look west.” Elrond turned to watch the falls.

“The world is changing and we find ourselves needing to change alongside it,” Gandalf said and observed the elf’s face.

Elrond did not respond. He let the moment fall before returning the conversation to the council that had been called. Gandalf groaned to himself—the elves were never very good at change.

Waking up yet again in a new place, made fear course through Ed. At least this place looked a hell of a lot nicer than the tower. It was shades of white, with elaborate carvings lining the door and windows. A soft and natural light lit the clean bed he was on, but despite the comforting warmth of the room, it was still sickening. Every unfamiliar day dashed his hopes of returning to Amestris easily.

He pulled off the linen sheets and groaned at the replacement white tunic he was dressed in. The moment he learned the word for red, he’d hunt down the bastard that had taken his jacket. He pulled away the fabric to look at the wound and relief filled him. The redness had mostly disappeared. It was sore, but it was a fraction of the pain. He was a tad warmer than normal, but it felt like the lingering infection, not the onslaught.

His frantic movements caught the attention of another man, or at least Ed thought it was a man. His hair was even longer than Ed’s and he bore no facial hair. He walked over to the side of the bed and spoke softly. Ed didn’t understand a word of it, but he felt relaxed just listening to.

After another glance, the man turned and left with a woman returning in his place. The initial sight of her made Ed relax into the bed, but then she turned to the side. Her ears were pointy. Unnaturally so. He scanned, looking for any other inhuman features, but when he found none, he kept quiet and shivered.

She opened her mouth, but Ed interrupted, “Let me guess, you also can’t understand me?”

She frowned. Spoke once in the soothing language, paused, then spoke again in it what sounded like the language the Beards had been speaking in.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Ed said, then gestured wildly around him. “Where am I?” He circled his arms, pointing to himself, then the floor.

The women watched carefully, then smiled. “Rivendell.”

Ed tried to repeat the word, but the combination of sounds was odd, and the emphasis felt off. She looked like she was about to laugh at him, so he scowled and kept trying to feel the word in his mouth.

“Rivendell,” Ed finally said. The woman nodded. His first word, and he wasn’t even confident if it was the specific location, another word for hospital, or if she had just given him the word for bed. But at least he had something.

After another few rounds of gesturing and attempting new words, she inspected the wound on his side. After being satisfied with what she saw, she tried to inspect his arm and leg, but Ed shooed her off. Did they not know what automail was?

She left, but Ed was never alone. Two others were always just outside his room and he suspected that this was another version of a prison, just a cleaner one. Anytime he got up, the others would rush into the room and practically push him back into the bed. After a third failed attempt to leave, Ed mimed the action of writing, along with opening and closing a book. If he was stuck, he was going to work until they let down their guard. One of the men backed up eyes wide, but the other seemed much more reasonable and left with a nod.

Quite enjoying the reactions he got from the remaining guard, Ed only increased the wildness of his gestures, hoping to at least learn some expletives. Disappointingly, the guard only gestured for Ed to return to the bed with increasing urgency, and it wasn't long before the guard audibly sighed at the sound of footsteps. Ed assumed his buddy had returned, but instead, it was Grey Beard. His condition had improved significantly, and Ed had the unsettling realization that maybe the whole incident with the birds wasn't as unrealistic as it seemed. Maybe the old man had saved him.

As Grey Beard approached, he held a leather book and a quill in hand. Ed wanted to snatch it from him but figured that might be a bit rude, so he said the only thing he could.

“Rivendell.”

Grey Beard’s eyebrows rose, and then he spoke quickly without any familiar words. Ed shook his head and Grey Beard, seemingly expecting such a response, placed a hand on his chest.

“Gandalf,” he said clearly and slowly.

“G’ndaf,” Ed said, stumbling over the sounds. He tried again, trying to mimic that last sound. “Gandalf.”

The man clasped his hands, a pleased smile on his face. Ed copied the same hand placement over his chest and said slowly, “Edward Elric.”

Grey Beard stumbled over the words, worse than Ed had, and after a third botched attempt, he raised his hands.

“Alright, just Ed then. Ed.”

“Ed,” Grey Beard said confidently and Ed nodded.

This was going to take forever.

Chapter Text

Bilbo was quite excited to meet the young man. The elves, for all their show of propriety, were, at heart, a bunch of gossips. It was exciting for them to discuss the new company, now that Bilbo’s novelty had worn, but unfortunately, their sneaky remarks were usually in elvish. While Bilbo had grown increasingly familiar with it, he remained practically clueless about the mysterious guest. All he’d been told was the man was dangerous and arrived with Gandalf only days ago. He was injured and sequestered to a corner of Rivendell infrequently traveled. Bilbo was told to stay away, but oh, what stories a foreigner could tell.

Deciding he wanted to at least see the man, Bilbo wandered slowly, making sure to rest along benches and watch the waterfalls along the way. The casualness would help him avoid questions about his aims. When he started to hear loud voices, bordering on shouts, Bilbo figured he was close, and sure enough, Elladan stopped him before he could reach the room.

“Bilbo,” the elf greeted, stepping forward and essentially blocking the path forward.

“Fine day, isn’t it?” Bilbo said with a smile.

“Do you need an escort back?”

“Oh, I am just fine.”

Elladan’s agreeable smile fell. “You are quite far from your usual spots. This is not the place to focus on your writing.”

“Good thing I am not planning on writing,” Bilbo said pleasantly, then peered around the elf. “May I?”

“He’s still under bed rest.” A particularly loud shout came from the ahead but to Bilbo, it was just a string of random sounds. How peculiar.

“Sounds like rest.”

Elladan grimaced. “You should leave. He’s dangerous.”

Bilbo’s heart sped up, but he kept his voice steady. “I was under the impression that I was welcome anywhere?”

The elf held Bilbo’s stare, and Bilbo forced himself to stand straight until Elladan relaxed his shoulders. “Come along, but be wary. Elrohir will appreciate the distraction.”

Bilbo trailed behind Elladan until they reached the arched door, and Bilbo got his first look at the man. He was small, although still a good bit taller than Bilbo himself. His hair was striking gold, pulled into a braid, and he sat hunched over a desk. Elrohir sat across, nose crinkled.

Then the man turned, finally noticing their approach, and Bilbo was stuck first by how young he was, then his unnaturally golden eyes, then the silver ornament in place of the man’s arm. His eyes narrowed and Bilbo snapped his gaping mouth shut.

“Bilbo,” Elrohir said with a nod. “I am curious to find you here.”

“He came to meet the man,” Elladan said.

“A peculiar request.”

The golden man was still eying Bilbo, who suddenly thought that maybe he should have listened to the warnings. This man was clearly not approachable. The elves seemed to be bothered by him, and sure enough, the young man raised an eyebrow and then pointed his finger right at Bilbo.

Bilbo ignored his instinct to admonish the rude behavior. He stood straighter. After all, he would never be so impolite.

“I am Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo.” Bilbo took a few steps forward, arm extended.

The man looked down at his arm but didn’t take it. “Bilbo,” the man said with a surprisingly accurate accent.

“Quite right.” Bilbo pulled his arm back, wiping away his nervousness on his vest.

“Ed.” The man tapped his chest.

Easy enough. “Ed.”

“He doesn’t know much more than that,” Elrohir said. “I’ve been tasked with teaching him, but he’s irrational. Can’t make sense of it. He is always changing the focus.”

Bilbo turned to the elf. “No one knows anything? Lord Elrond isn’t familiar with the language?”

Elladan and Elrohir shook their heads together. A story was hidden here. Bilbo stepped forward and pointed to the man’s arm.

“Is that real?”

Ed looked at Bilbo’s face and then grinned. Correctly interpreting Bilbo’s interest, he held up the metal palm and then waved the fingers.

“How is that possible? Did the dwarves make it?” Bilbo stepped forward, transfixed.

Ed tilted his head. Right, he couldn’t understand.

“Arm,” Bilbo said, pointing at his own arm.

“Arm,” Ed said, then pointed to his. “Arm?”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded and smiled. “Metal.” He pointed to the arm, then other metal objects. The elf’s dagger. The buttons on his coat.

“Metal,” Ed repeated with a nod. “Metal arm.”

“May I see?” Bilbo asked and quickly backtracked. “Ah, look?” He gestured to his eyes, then the arm. Ed held it out.

Another few minutes and Ed had learned the names of a slew of other body parts and was significantly less irritated. The elves hovered nearby, but Elrohir looked especially relieved to have Bilbo take over his duties.

Bilbo spent the day there, pointing, miming, and making crude sketches. He’d never seen a man so animated to learn; it was quite refreshing. Bilbo tried his best to learn his share of Ed’s words, but he was certain he wasn’t pronouncing anything correctly and by the sly grins Ed gave, he feared he was saying all sorts of profanity.

He stayed in that small room, under the watch of the amazed elves until his stomach’s protests could no longer be ignored. News of his day’s activities seemed to spread, and like the gossips they were, Bilbo spent dinner recounting the enthusiasm Ed had for language.

The next day, Bilbo returned to Ed, and they did much of the same. It was remarkable how easily Ed remembered the words. His vocabulary was that of a small child, and while Bilbo couldn’t properly ask much, he learned some about the man. He liked to eat as much as Bilbo did, enjoying the snacks Bilbo had smuggled with him. His metal arm acted completely fluidly, just as a real arm would, and most of all, he was keen. Eyes tracking any movement in the room.

Interruptions still found them. It was midday when Gandalf arrived. Bilbo hadn’t heard his silent approach. It was only Ed’s sudden silence and stiffening posture that alerted him to anything.

“Hello, Gandalf,” Bilbo said warmly.

Gandalf looked between them, interest clear, but his gaze landed on Bilbo. “May we speak? I have news.”

That was quite ominous.

“Alright.” Bilbo braced his hands against his knees to stand. “Later,” he told Ed, hoping he recalled their previous conversation about past and future. They were quite a ways down the hall when Gandalf spoke.

“So you have been speaking with Ed.”

“That I have. Quite an interesting lad. His language is unlike anything I've heard.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “You can speak with him?”

“Of course. The elves lack creativity when conversing. They’d taught him next to nothing! Although, we don’t often get far before we go off in a new direction about other words. He’s quite curious, very interested in learning how to speak, and he constantly brings up his coat. A red one, provided he understood colors accurately. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is? I promised I’d help him find it.”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Damn. Of course, wouldn’t be that easy.”

“So you trust him?”

“He’s a child, Gandalf. What’s not to trust?”

“We know little about him.”

“Well, I quite like him. Reminds me of the Took half of my family. The way he teases the elves is quite reminiscent.” Bilbo smiled and shook his head. “Was there something you came to tell me?”

“Frodo is here.”

Despite the ever-increasing dread that Ed was well and truly stuck in a world and in a time he knew nothing about, things were improving. Ed’s side finally stopped its constant throbbing. They fed him, mostly fruits and bread, but after days on the tower and military rations, the food was a feast. He was still a prisoner, guarded to stay in a single room. It didn’t seem like it would be difficult to leave, but considering he had no leads and no information about where he was, he stayed. For now.

More importantly, he had time to think without the haze of a fever. He sketched the symbols from the array, over and over. He had no clue how it worked. It seemed impossible, but he was determined to find a way to reverse it.

Communication was his next priority. Someone was bound to have information about the crazy white-bearded bastard and how he was able to transport Ed away from the mineshaft. But communication required learning, and everyone around him was a shit teacher. Grey Beard and the others treated him as if he was a mildly interesting chore. No one matched his eagerness to learn, at least, not until Bilbo.

He reminded him of Pinako, mostly on account of his size and greying hair, but Bilbo was far more tolerable because he wasn’t trying to force milk down his throat. After the first few days of gathering as many words as he could, he’d started encouraging Bilbo just to talk. Learning the individual words was easy. It just took time, but learning the flow and how to connect words together was far more difficult. What he wouldn’t give for a radio to play all the time.

Days passed, and Ed focused on learning. Apparently, there were different races of people, and beyond that of just skin color. Ed wasn’t wholly convinced that some chimera nonsense happened, but Bilbo seemed to think it normal that some people were half the height of others or that 'elves' had pointy ears.

Perhaps the most fruitful day was when Bilbo brought a map to their meeting. It was suspect, having clearly been hand-written without a proper scale, but it was his first look at the country he landed in. Rivendell was a city nestled into the side of the mountains. Based on geography, Ed assumed Isengard was where White Beard was, but Bilbo didn’t seem to know much about it. Bilbo himself was from the west, a region called the Shire. Ed still didn’t understand much, but the way Bilbo talked about his home made it seem like a pleasant one.

It was those warm thoughts of the Shire that led Bilbo to say, “You know, I am not the only hobbit to venture this far. My nephew is here.”

Nephew. That was an unfamiliar word that sent them down a rapid diagramming session, drawing family relations. The elves, ever lurking, laughed at his confusion, and it took him far too long to understand the difference between ‘brother’ and ‘friend’.

After being satisfied with the impromptu lesson, Bilbo asked, “Do you have a family?”

“Brother,” Ed said simply, gut curling.

“Where is he?”

“Far.”

“I’m sorry. It is difficult to be far away, but for me, I always found the adventure worthwhile.”

Bilbo gripped his arm and smiled, and while Ed didn’t understand all the words, he recognized comfort where it was being given. He returned a half smile and encouraged Bilbo to keep rambling about his hole that he lived in.

Ed had yet to see alchemy, or any of the bizarreness that White Beard had been capable of, but despite the absence, Ed hadn’t thought it was something unusual. Not until he transmuted in front of Bilbo.

Bilbo had been re-telling a tale about a town and a mountain and a 'dragon', and Ed decided to do something. It felt right. Perhaps it had been too long since he’d transmuted anything and it was a kind gesture to the first person who had taken a genuine interest in helping him. Whatever it was, he clapped and formed a small form of a 'dragon' out of stone, inspired by a drawing Bilbo had scrounged up.

Within a second of the crackle of the transmutation ending, both elves were upon him questioning. Bilbo stared down at the figurine, amazed.

“Magic.”

One of the elves had unsheathed his sword, and it took minutes for Bilbo to settle them both backdown. They examined the figurine and upon realizing the lack of threat, Bilbo repeated again, “It’s magic. You have magic?”

Ed nodded. Magic. Was that the alchemy of this place?

Once again, Gandalf found Ed with Bilbo. He wouldn’t have predicted the friendship from what he’d seen of Ed on the Orthanc, but Bilbo did as he tended to do—he surprised Gandalf. Ed had grown significantly more comfortable with speaking, and Lord Elrond had grown more concerned over the man’s presence. With the council called, more visitors would come and Ed would not remain a secret for long. They needed to make a decision.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo greeted. “How is Frodo?”

“He is doing much better. Sam has been seeing to him.”

“Good, good. I supposed you aren’t here to chat?”

“Afraid not. Lord Elrond would like a meeting with Ed.”

Bilbo sighed, mumbling something about pointless interruptions. As Ed gathered his writings, Bilbo tugged on Gandalf’s sleeve.

“Easy on the lad,” Bilbo whispered. “He’s smart, but he’s young.”

Ed threw them a glance, although Gandalf was uncertain how much he understood Bilbo’s words. As they started through the city, Ed still wore a cautious air, but Gandalf found it much easier to talk to Ed than before. At first, he lauded Bilbo’s efforts, but the more they talked, the more misplaced that seemed. Ed wanted to learn. He was asking the questions and Bilbo just so happened to be willing to answer.

He first questioned after his red coat, and after the disappointment that Gandalf didn’t know where it had gone, Ed asked, “White beard?”

“Saruman?”

Ed repeated the name until he copied the sounds perfectly. Then mumbled something under his breath with a grimace. He struggled a bit more trying to get answers out of Gandalf before they reached Elrond and the casualness of their conversation disappeared.

Elrond’s face was flat, eyes scrutinizing. After what seemed an uncomfortably long stare, he stood and Ed bristled.

“What you want?” Ed asked, placing a hand on his hip. Gandalf choked back a laugh at the boldness.

Elrond wasn’t flustered. “I wish to understand you. I have housed and fed you, but I know nothing of where you are from. I hear Bilbo has taught you some of how we speak, so now I must learn your intentions.”

Ed shrugged. “I like Bilbo.”

“As do I.” Elrond paused, debating how much Ed could reasonably understand. “Where are you from?”

“Amestris.”

“Where is that?”

“Far.”

“How did you get here?”

Ed’s face twisted as he thought of the right words. He eventually gave up, pointed a thumb at Gandalf, and said, “Birds.”

As Elrond grimaced, Gandalf found himself smiling. Even with Elrond’s restraint in his choice of words and Bilbo’s lessons, neither understood each other well, but Gandalf was comforted. The man was curious and blunt, but well enough intentioned. He kept insisting all he wanted was to return home.

Then their talk shifted to Saruman. Ed seemed to not know how he got to the tower, other than “magic”. Elrond’s impatience grew.

“You clap, and strange things happen.”

“Alchemy. Magic.”

“You have magic?”

Ed shrugged and clapped. Out of the floor rose a stone spear. He twirled it, showing off a fighting stance, but didn’t offensively approach them with it. Elrond’s ring hand clenched and Gandalf stiffened. So that’s why Saruman wanted him. Another wizard. Another wizard who was a capable fighter.

“How does it work?”

“Alchemy. Equivalent Exchange.”

Elrond looked to Gandalf. Neither understood the words. “You are dangerous.”

“You hurt me?”

“No.”

“You hurt persons?” Ed gestured broadly.

“No.”

“Then I not danger.”

Something warmed in Gandalf. It was blunt, childish but genuine.

The conversation ended not long after that, with Ed requesting access to more books. Apparently, speaking wasn’t enough for him. Elrond permitted him to move freely through Rivendell, although Gandalf assumed Elladan and Elrohir would no doubt be close by.

The parting statement from Elrond was, “When you know your path home, you are free to leave.”

Ed snorted, mumbling in his own tongue before he turned and swiftly left, clearly taking advantage of his newly granted access to the city.

Elrond returned to his chair, letting out a breath. 

“You intend to let him leave Rivendell?” Gandalf questioned.

“I sense no ill intent. I do not think he lies about only wanting to return home. He does not belong here.”

“But do you see if his presence will change things?”

“He will bring a tide. Raw power, but there is too much uncertainty to say.” Elrond paused before looking right at Gandalf. “One thing is certain. He should not learn of the ring’s presence here.”

Chapter Text

Weeks passed. Ed tried not to think about Amestris, instead pouring himself into learning. Knowing nothing about the world, its resources, or politics was a major disadvantage, and made Ed feel like a toddler again. He could be shot and killed the moment he stepped out of the city because he didn’t know the land. Did they even have guns? How common were bandits?

His days formed a natural routine: wake up, exercise (he wasn’t about to let Teacher see him weak and flabby when he returned), then spend as much time as he could researching. Bilbo, his most frequent companion, encouraged his endeavors and was quite taken with the idea of Ed not just learning how to speak but to read and write as well.

It was somewhat alarming to see how many books were handwritten, and more generally, the lack of technology. This world was still suffering through the dark ages, having no modern science or medicine. It was going to be a nightmare to keep up his automail if he didn’t get back to Winry soon. They had no centralized learning and no means of rapid transportation. Ed didn’t mind camping, but the thought of walking, rather than hopping on a train back to White Beard’s tower, was not a welcome one. He tried to probe about the fever-ridden giant bird travel, but that led to nothing promising.

Perhaps the most disappointing bit was that no one knew alchemy. Despite the prevalence of “magic,” the elves looked at him like he’d gone mad whenever he asked. He tried to describe arrays, even demonstrate them for a select few, but all they did was marvel at the transmutation. It was completely novel to them and everyone was useless in helping him understand the array that brought him here. His hopes of finding an alchemy book explaining it were dashed.

Bilbo, ever the questioner, asked one day, “How does your magic work?”

Ed shrugged, “It’s science.” He’d yet to learn their word for science, which again, was worrying about the state of this society.

“It’s not your arm? I had a magic ring once. Let me disappear,” Bilbo said with a wink. Ed stared, unsure if he was joking, but Bilbo continued, “Elrond has a magic ring too, I hear.”

“He has magic?”

“See the future if I am not mistaken.”

Ed gaped. “That’s…” impossible, but again he didn’t know the word. Bilbo must have misspoke or there was a word he misinterpreted, even if Bilbo didn’t seem to be joking.

Questions from Bilbo about his alchemy were one thing, but the others weren’t nearly as welcoming or as deserving of knowledge as Bilbo, so Ed stopped using alchemy. In a similar vein, he started wearing gloves. The stares were getting beyond uncomfortable.

Despite his focus and grueling days, his nights weren’t near as cooperative. They were filled with Al, nightmares about being stuck in the armor until the suit rusted away and destroyed the soul mark. He dreamt of Winry. Even Mustang and company made their appearances in his subconscious. Every day started with a guilty feeling and being weighed down by the knowledge he’d left them all.

As peaceful as the city was, it felt stagnant, and Ed was determined to avoid the lull. With his allowance to move freely, Bilbo made it his goal to introduce him to as many new faces as he could. His nephew, Frodo, was first, along with another, Sam. Despite the familial relation, it was much more difficult to speak with Frodo. He seemed tired and uncomfortable. It was almost like he was hiding something, but given the black glove on Ed’s arm, he figured he didn’t have the right to push.

Sam was like a guard dog but without any teeth. He positioned himself so he could always watch Frodo and Ed, but whenever Ed addressed him directly, he stumbled over his words. The pair were good enough for learning the language, both speaking with a different cadence than Bilbo and the elves.

Ed met the other hobbits as well, most frequently in the kitchens. More often than not, one of them was snacking, and they eagerly invited him to join. Merry and Pippin were enjoyable company, mostly on behalf of being younger than the rest and because they gave him his first taste of wine.

“He’s a kid!” Sam protested as Merry pushed the goblet closer.

“Oh, and like you didn’t sneak the Green Dragon’s ale,” Merry said, nodding excitedly at Ed.

“I didn’t!”

“Rosa’s mead?” Pippin asked as Ed leaned over it. He’d never understood the appeal. Pain medications made him feel out of his wits, and alcohol was just another depressant. He couldn’t imagine doing it willingly, but Mustang had also been a hard ass about refusing to let him try the whiskey he kept in his office.

“Never,” Sam said, aghast, trying to grab the goblet away.

Before he could, Ed snatched it and took a sip. Merry and Pippin cheered. Sam groaned. The elves laughed.

“He’s too little for that,” Sam protested.

It was unpleasantly bitter, but Ed held in his cough and gripped the goblet tighter. “Who are you calling miniscule, eh?! You’re like half my height.” He kept up the tirade and raised the goblet over his head, ready to swing, and Sam cowered. Good.

“Calm down,” Frodo said. Ed looked between Sam’s wide eyes, and Merry’s snickering and lowered the goblet.

“Was not good,” Ed said, this time in their language, grabbed a loaf from a nearby plate and stalked off to memorize more maps.

As much as he was around the other hobbits, Ed found himself near as frequently in the presence of dwarves. Bilbo was old friends with one, Gloin, who would spend afternoons chatting with Bilbo. It was alarming how often they discussed the ‘dragon’. Ed was beginning to fear that Bilbo’s tale wasn’t fantasy and that giant flying lizards were going to start dropping from the sky.

Gimli, another dwarf, often accompanied. He was pleasant enough and far more useful when it came to understanding the outside world. Bilbo, from what Ed could tell, had only traveled the country once. The elves were content to be constrained to their city, so the dwarves could give actual details about the modern world. Gimli was all too happy to brag about his family’s skill in fighting or their fortunes in their adventures and mining.

“I’d be careful going south. Us dwarves are even more inclined to stay in the mountains. Orcs are not friendly company, and for someone as sm-”

Ed glared. Mentally he dared Gimli to say small.

“Ah, as, ah, unfamiliar as you, might be dangerous.” Ed kept his eyes narrowed, but Gimli never got close to mentioning his height again.

Through the dwarves, Ed learned the absolutely ridiculous emphasis that they put on different people. Elves were pompous. Hobbits were forgettable. Men were untrustworthy. More people arrived in the city and Ed quickly learned the persistent indifference bordering on disgust that everyone had for men. If they had any sense, they should be distrustful of everyone.

Lord Elf and Grey Beard were ready to be rid of him.

Several meetings followed their initial one, probing at Ed’s past and his plans. Each encounter was easier to communicate, and while Ed received helpful information about the tower and White Beard, it felt like Lordy was only telling him to get him to leave sooner.

Grey Beard appeared at random times, outside of the stuffy meetings with the elves. He asked less about his plans and more about his past, often bringing up truly bizarre topics, like what he did for fun, or who taught him how to use a spear. He seemed a combination of baffled and wary of Ed’s desire to return to White Beard’s tower, but not concerned enough to actually stop him from doing anything.

“What is in the tower that you need to return to?”

“Magic.” He would not attempt to explain arrays again.

“Do you understand the power Saruman holds?”

“What do you think I do?” Ed said, pointing to a stack of papers. Bilbo had kindly informed him that Grey Breard was in fact not a man, but a wizard, as was the other bearded freak. It sounded like nonsense, but Ed was beginning to realize a lot of this world’s history was founded on myths. He might as well understand them.

“Elrond would caution me against this, but I do not wish to see harm come to you.” Ed paused, and Grey Beard took on a more serious tone. “Saruman has aligned himself with a greater power. I am sure you have seen the name Sauron in your readings.”

Ed had. Thousands of years had passed, but some evil power once led a war against the world. He was an ancient evil that plagued the land, and while some of it was bound to be founded in truth, most of it sounded fake.

“He is dead.”

“If only it were that simple,” Grey Beard said with a sigh.

“He is thousands of years old,” Ed said slowly.

“Indeed, he is.”

That was a terrifying thought. Had these people found a way to live unnaturally long? Dread pooled in his gut.

“How old are you?”

Grey Beard smiled. “Oh, I have lost count of the exact years at this point.”

That led Ed down a hole. He felt stupid for not asking sooner, but how was he supposed to know that people here could live for thousands of years? Had they found an array for regeneration? Ed tried to press, but all Bilbo said was, “That’s just how elves and wizards are. Just like how I am short. No use worrying over it.”

It felt like a pretty major thing to worry about. He was half convinced all the elves were wearing philosopher stones and were stealing the souls of men, but he didn’t have a clue how to prove it.

Regardless of the absurdity of their lifespans, Ed was finally reaching a point where he could leave Rivendell. He knew the route. The elves were willing to spare a pack and supplies. They warned him about orcs goblins, even more chimera-sounding than the rest of them, but Ed wasn’t worried. The only reason he’d gotten captured last time was cause he’d just been impaled. This time he just had to smack Beardy’s stick away, and he’d be good.

Bilbo sensed the change. Ed was less focused on the language and more on the potential hazards he’d come across.

“I’d go with you if I was only a decade younger,” Bilbo told him. Ed smiled, wishing that he had a companion. He would give just about anything to have Al traveling alongside him.

Days out from leaving, Grey Beard brought him his coat. The moment he caught sight of the familiar, blaring red, he hadn’t waited for Grey Beard to offer it. He snatched it right out of his arms. Someone had cleaned it and stitched up the hole in the back.

“Good, eh?” Ed asked, throwing it on with a twirl. 

Grey Beard applauded. “No one could forget you.”

He gave another stretch before meeting Grey Beard’s eyes. It was a kind gift, but the timing felt odd. “A goodbye gift?”

Grey Beard sighed. “This world you have stumbled into has a great evil. It is not a kind place for travelers. We must take action and Lord Elrond does not wish to see you as a part of it.”

“And you?”

“I fear this conflict is unavoidable. You cannot escape it even if you try. Even if it should not land on shoulders this young.”

Ed snorted. “If only you knew the things I seen. Whatever it is, is not so bad.”

“You sound certain, yet you don’t even know what we face.”

He was dangling the information, like he wanted Ed to ask about it, but Ed shook his head. “It’s not my world.” He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Then I wish you luck on your travels.” Grey Beard left with a bow of his head. 

For all their hospitality, Ed was being shooed off, and he wasn’t one to stick around where he wasn’t wanted.

When Merry saw Gandalf leading Frodo off, alone and without Sam, he’d hurried to interrupt Pippin’s breakfast. Pippin, understanding the potential, also didn’t hesitate to run back with him, stuffing an apple and roll into his pockets. At first, they searched for Sam, hoping to get the particulars, but he was nowhere to be found. However, there was a suspicious number of folk walking in the same direction, so Merry and Pippin idled about, sneaking closer and closer.

That was until a large group of elves gathered, blocking the path, and with the elves’ too-keen eyes and ears, they had no hope of getting past unnoticed even with their extreme talents.

“Pip,” he whispered, pulling him to the side of the walk, “the garden.” Merry jerked his head to the manicured bushes.

Pippin gave a smile and nod before practically jumping into the foliage. Merry followed much more gracefully. They tromped past the garden hedges and into the woods, trying to maintain an unnoticeable distance from the elves. They swung wide, and it was there, in a small clearing, where they stumbled into Ed.

He was in between the trees, flipping around. It looked to be some sort of fighting sequence, though Merry had no hope of recognizing it. They stood frozen, mesmerized by the impressive display. Then Pippin shifted his feet and a branch cracked beneath him.

Ed jumped, twisting to look at them. “Oi, what are you doing?” He squared them, hands on his hips.

“Oh, just a stroll,” Merry said with a casual shrug.

Ed cocked his head. “In dirt?”

“It’s refreshing,” Pippin chimed in.

“Where to?”

“Abouts.”

A grin creased his face. “I follow.”

“No,” Merry said, as Pippin declared, “Yes.” Merry grabbed and spun Pippin around, scowling at him.

“What?” Pippin asked. “He won’t tell anyone, and he could help. He’s clearly fit. Maybe he could sneak us in somewhere.”

Ed was walking towards them now, and after the display of Ed’s talents, it didn’t seem wise to argue. “Fine,” Merry growled.

Despite being bigger than them, Ed was small enough to sneak close by and was surprisingly quiet. Merry knew they’d gotten close to their target when a telltale grey-robed figure stood amongst a chatting crowd. Merry shivered at the idea successfully sneaking into some highly restrictive and secretive gathering.

As they got close, Ed’s excitement grew. Instead of following, he shifted ahead. Thankfully, the group was mostly distracted by the conversation, so when Ed jumped up and onto the stone path, no one noticed.

When Merry caught up to him he gestured to a gap in a pillar, smiling.

“Has this always been here?” He whispered and Ed shrugged. It was oddly convenient. A hole Just large enough for Pippin and him. Merry ran his hand on the rough, edge as they squeezed in. There wasn’t space for anyone larger than them, but when he gave Ed a questioning gaze, Ed just gave a sort of salute and snuck off just as Elrond shouted something and people shuffled to their seats. They were just close enough to hear, provided people talked loudly.

“Told you he’d be helpful,” Pippin whispered.

Merry shushed him, and they fell silent as Elrond began speaking.

Ed hadn’t expected to stumble upon anything important by following the two hobbits. The elves’ stuffiness was stifling and considering he was about to embark on a solo journey, interfering with the two sounded fun. He wasn’t going to have company for days, or even weeks, so he tagged along.

When they’d gotten close, Ed realized that this was the council that people had been whispering about. He’d ignored it till this moment, not particularly caring for the politics of this world, something Mustang would have cursed him for. But this was clearly Merry and Pippin’s destination by the way they had scanned for places to hide. They were quiet, even for their small size, but their constant jabbering to each other would alert someone if they hid in the wrong spot, and Ed felt inclined to help. After giving them a spot, Ed himself went to the roof. If he was going to stay, he was going to be close enough to see and hear everything.

Lord Elf addressed the group, gesturing for them to sit while Ed climbed the side of a pillar, gripped the edge of the roof, and pulled himself up. His goal was to get behind Lordy’s head. If anyone was going to call him out for spying it would be him, so unless elves had a secret pair of eyes out the back of their head, it was the safest spot.

He slid along the tile, letting the trees obscure him while greetings were given and then Frodo stepped forward. Maybe Ed should have pulled more on that instinct to poke at whatever Frodo was hiding considering this was looking like the purpose of the council. He placed a golden ring on the center dais.

Ed’s whole body froze. Even as the others began to talk, the ring was whispering to him, capturing his whole attention. It thrummed with power, much like a philosopher’s stone, but Ed didn’t have to touch the ring to feel it.

It was different.

On instinct, he knew the things he could do with that ring. The temptation of bringing his mother back was at the forefront again after years of being repulsed by the thought. That ring contained the knowledge to accomplish it. It didn’t just store power, it could siphon it. The perfect stone.

He could see Al, in his real body standing just beyond the ring, smiling and happy to see him. He knew this ring could make that a reality. That this ring could bring him home, give him anything he wanted.

One of the men started to walk to the dais, and worse, reach for the ring. Ed bristled. He needed that ring and he could take it. These people weren’t as capable of fighters. He readied himself to launch off the roof and clap, but Grey Beard beat him to it.

Lord Elf shouted at the man but was quickly drowned out by Grey Beard's roar. Ed recoiled at the speech. It had a way of clawing at his ears. Inheritantly powerful, it darkened the sky above them as the speech boomed and echoed. He clenched his eyes shut until the sky lightened, and he came back to himself. It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. What was he thinking? That ring was dangerous. A stone had a fraction of that power, and it contained human souls. Chances were this was something much more vile. Or worse, to have so much power, it had to be connected to Truth directly.

A debate began about the usefulness of the ring and Ed found himself grudgingly agreeing. The knowledge there was a trap, not a solution. If only he could understand the ring.

The remainder of the council became harder to follow. They started mentioning a “king” and Ed could hear Mustang’s berating now. He spent weeks with the most powerful men in the world, and he hadn’t even thought to ask their names. One thing kept getting repeated: “The ring must be destroyed.”

Ed’s stomach curled unhappily, but he forced himself to sit still as Gimli swung at the ring. He recoiled as the sound of the ax shattering rang out. Was that axe made of shale? Or what the hell was that ring made of? Gimli fell back into his seat shaken.

Lord Elf announced clearly, “The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade.”

Ed was going to have to physically pick up his mouth from the ground. What was wrong with these people? If they really wanted to destroy it, which Ed hoped they didn’t until he got a better look at the thing, they just needed to pull out a furnace. The melting point of gold wasn’t that high.

Conversation picked up again and Ed’s ability of the language was challenged. Someone mentioned an eye and Ed knew that he was missing vital pieces. Then shouting. Almost everyone was on their feet, inching towards the ring and yelling over it. Everyone except Frodo. Ed watched Frodo as he watched the ring. After another moment, the hobbit stood.

“I will take it.”

No one heard, then he repeated himself, louder and people slowly turned. Had Ed been invited, he would have challenged it. There was no way he would have let Frodo march to a mountain alone with the single most powerful artifact Ed had ever seen. But the rest didn’t share his opinion. They acquiesced, some even offering their support. One by one, man, elf, and dwarf stood behind him.

Then Sam leaped out of the bushes, joining right at Frodo’s side. And of course that was a signal for Merry and Pippin to reveal themselves. “We’re coming too!”

Ed felt a shock of gratification at Lord Elf's baffled face, but he recovered after a beat and announced, “Nine companions.”

Ed moved without thinking; he wasn’t about to let that ring wander off without him. If Elrond was surprised to see Merry and Pippin, he was dumbfounded as Ed lowered himself from the roof and dropped to the ground below.

“Wait!” Ed said clearly and approached the council. Silent stares met him. “Me too.”

Lord Elf stepped in front of him. “You wish to destroy the ring?”

“Something is wrong with it.” Ed wasn’t about to march to a random mountain to destroy it, like the rest of these disillusioned people, but his mind was already racing with possibilities. If there was nothing foul about it or its construction he would use it to get back. Or if it truly was dangerous, he could just use a deconstruction array, and boom. No ring. That would get him some credit with these people.

Lord Elf seemed conflicted, but Gandalf gave a firm nod, and something silent passed between them. The others had volunteered something to Frodo for his quest. Ed thought quickly as he took a step towards Frodo. “You have my arm.”

Frodo gave a half smile, still looking overwhelmed. Ed slid in beside the group, trying to ignore the stares.

“Very well. The ten of you shall be the Fellowship of the ring.”

After that, people dissolved, clapping each other on the back as they retreated. They all watched Ed uncertainly, not sure whether to include him in the camaraderie. All Ed had eyes for was the ring.

He gave it one last look before Frodo pocketed it.

Chapter Text

The reception to Ed joining the Fellowship varied widely, from frustration to indifference to obvious enthusiasm. Among the enthusiasts, Merry and Pippin were by far his most eager supporters. They had been impressed when they stumbled upon his morning exercise routine and were thrilled at the prospect of spending time on a long journey together.

Bilbo also seemed pleased, although surprised, with a tad bit of confusion. Some of the dwarves came by for an afternoon of chatting the day following the council, and complimented Ed's bravery in joining such an essential and dangerous mission. Ed felt his gut curl as Bilbo turned to him.

“But didn’t you want to go home, lad?”

“I will.”

Bilbo looked between his eyes, searching for something, then a soft smile broke out across his face.

“I understand. An adventure too tempting to resist.”

He winked, and Ed couldn’t help the guilt that pooled in his gut. It wasn’t adventure. It was that damned ring. He hadn’t seen the ring in over a day, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. It was a silly reason for delaying his real mission of getting back to Amestris, but even as he tried to tell himself that it was just a ring, that it meant nothing, he couldn’t leave something like that behind.

The indifferent crowd consisted of the majority of men and elves at Rivendell. They knew of him, shown clearly by the sly glances, but the most interaction he received was an occasional nod of acknowledgement. There was never any need to talk.

And of course, there were some, namely Lord Elf, who were less enthused by his participation. He hadn’t missed the way Grey Beard had soothed the elf at the council, and again, whenever Lord Elf glared his way, Grey Beard was there to whisper in his ear. Ed knew there was distrust. Hell, he didn’t trust any of them either, but this was a new level of judgment.

Three days after the council, Ed decided it was time to do something about the ring. He could admit that he might have been a little brash in his first attempt, but he was itching to examine the ring. It was mealtime, and the hobbits were chattering as always, and several elves were milling about, which was his first mistake. He should have waited until he had more privacy, but Sam was distracted by some argument Pippin had started, and it was too tempting an opportunity to talk to Frodo.

He leaned over the table with his best, encouraging grin. “Can I see it?”

“What?” Frodo’s brow drew in, and his head tilted. Ed waited a beat before answering, hoping Frodo wasn’t that dense.

“The ring,” he said flatly.

Frodo’s eyes widened a fraction. “Why?”

“Curious.”

Frodo stiffened, jaw clenching, and then said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sam’s attention returned at that statement, and he could feel Sam’s hackles rise. Tension grew in the air.

“Just look,” Ed said, still plastering the smile on his face. Frodo shook his head. “Please.”

“He said no,” Sam said, physically tilting his body towards Ed.

The discomfort in the air rose, and they were now attracting attention beyond their table. Frodo stood to leave, so Ed stood too. Before the hobbits could say anything else, two elves stepped forward, the ones who had followed him relentlessly in his first days. Then the booming voice of Lord Elf came from across the open area.

“Edward.”

Ed froze, giving Frodo the chance to retreat several steps. He hadn’t realised anyone knew his full name. It was just Ed to everyone. The elf strode forward quickly. “With me.”

The other two elves flocked him, so while Frodo scurried off, Ed was grudgingly herded in the opposite direction. Stern eyes watched him, and Grey Breard wasn’t around to soften them this time. When they finally reached a private overlook, Lord Elf dismissed the other two in Elvish. Ed waited, forcing his body to stay casual, but already preparing for a fight. The elf stared, a deep frown on his face, and Ed wondered if he’d already reached the point of being banished from the Fellowship. It was silent for a few more moments with only the sound of the falls echoing before the elf spoke.

“Gandalf has tried to convince me of the good you might wield. That you have shown nothing but kindness and spirit. I have thus allowed you within my city, within the Fellowship.” A pause. Ed waited for the obvious scolding that was coming.

“Yet there is greed within you. You want everything the world can give. You continually fail to understand the consequences of your actions. If you pursue the ring, you will forget your homeland, obsessed with the power and knowledge the ring can grant you.”

Ed forced his eyes from rolling. He would never forget Amestris or Al. No ring could do that.

The elf continued, voice growing deeper. “Your world is strange. Something I have never spied until you appeared in Rivendell. And even then, I only see glimpses of the future you would abandon. An army of blue, tearing people to shreds. Fire. People across the land, collapsing, red pooling underneath them. Lighting, pure power in the air.”

Ed felt a cold wave wash over him as he racked his brain for when he mentioned that the Amestris army wore blue. Had he mentioned it to Bilbo? He was certain that he had never told the elves. Coincidence? He shifted uneasily.

“A dead land, with only an empty set of armour remaining, until that too withers and rusts. It cries your name, Edward, then cracks apart.”

Without a thought, Ed lunged, trying to grab the elf, but he stepped aside easily.

“How do you know that? How do you know Al?” Ed shouted.

He stepped forward again, only for the elf to back up and raise a placating hand, voice still stern. “I only know what could come to pass. If you take the ring for yourself, that is what will happen, along with the deaths of everyone you have met here.”

Ed shook his head. These people were crazy. There was no such thing as seeing the future, and yet his shock was preventing him from figuring out the truth. How did he know about Al’s armour? He knew he had never mentioned the armour. He only ever mentioned Al to Bilbo, and all he said was that Al was his younger brother and that he looked like him, not hulking metal.

His nostrils flared as he kept watching the elf. To this point, there had been no obvious reason to distrust the elves, and Ed never imagined that these people would manipulate him, but here Lord Elf was, using his full name and threatening Al. Before he could move, the elf spoke again.

“I say this as a warning. You need to understand the reality of the ring. If you try to take it from Frodo again, it’ll be fortunate if all I do is ban you from the city. Only pain comes from that temptation, and I will not see you destroy Middle Earth over it. I will speak to Gandalf and encourage him to reconsider your joining of the Fellowship.”

Ed stood there, stunned, as the elf left. It was a good minute of processing before he stormed out in the opposite direction. He needed to find his notes. Had they found a way to decode it? That was the only thing in this world that contained information about Al.

He was moving quickly and loudly, so it shouldn’t have been surprising when Grey Beard caught sight of him, but it was no less annoying as he swept over.

He gave a soft chuckle as his freakishly long legs fell into stride with his pace. “Was dinner not to your liking? Or was there another fiasco with the wine?”

“Ask your elf friend,” Ed said, scowling and without pausing.

Grey Beard’s light tone shifted. “You should calm yourself.”

“Calm?” Ed snapped. “Someone has been stealing from me!”

Gandalf frowned as Ed waved his hand wildly back to where Lord Elf disappeared.

“He’s been lying! He knows about Amestris.”

“I have known Lord Elrond for many years, and while I do not always appreciate the words from him, he is not one to lie. What did he say?”

Ed continued to march through the city, giving Grey Beard the heavily abridged version of events. To which he just responded with a sigh.

“He is not wrong. The ring would destroy any man, even you, who is unfamiliar with this world, would fall to its desires.”

Ed snorted. “Makes no sense. A ring can’t have desires.”

“It was made from hatred and malice, and it seeks to serve them.” Ed shook his head, but Grey Beard stepped forward, halting his path. “You do not understand the ways of this world. Nor do I, if I am being honest. But there are things you must trust.” Grey Beard clasped a hand on his shoulder, maintaining eye contact. “The ring must be destroyed. Any who tries to use it will be corrupted. That is what Elrond saw. That is what we all fear.”

Ed shrugged him off with a huff. By now, he was close to his room, so he charged ahead, grabbed his notes, and flipped through them. The only reference to Al was a terrible sketch he’d done one night when he couldn’t sleep. It would be nearly impossible to determine that this was important to him, let alone make out what it was supposed to be. Was that possible that it was true? That the elf could see the future. There was plenty he didn’t understand here. The chimera people. The ring. Was magic, beyond just the alchemy he understood, really that unimaginable?

Grey beard was still lurking behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder, so he snapped the book shut and turned to him.

“The ring is powerful,” Ed admitted.

Grey beard nodded. “If you do not think you can resist the lure of the ring, I will insist that you stay behind.”

“But why don’t you use it?”

“It cannot be controlled. It has a mind only to follow Sauron. While it exists, there is a threat to every race, man, elf, dwarf. Peace will only come if it is destroyed.”

Ed considered. His goal was to get back to Al. If everyone insisted that he couldn’t use the ring to do so, maybe he should listen. Suddenly, Grey Beard’s lip quirked upwards.

“There are other consequences to destroying the ring, of course. Saruman, that man you claim brought you here, will lose his most powerful ally.”

That was something Ed hadn’t put much thought into—political alliances. Mustang would be ashamed at his dismissal of their quirky, nonsensical foreign relations, but these people were hell bent and united on destroying the thing, so maybe he could use that. Based on Grey Beard's slight grin, he was hoping Ed would think the same.

“So if I destroy the ring, White Beard loses his power,” Ed said slowly. “What are the chances people here would help me take over the tower if I destroy the ring?”

He could probably take the tower on his own, but an army behind him wouldn’t hurt. Grey Beard stared. “You cannot hope to make it to Mordor alone.”

“I don’t.” Ed waved his hand dismissively. “Would people help me get back to White Beard if I destroyed the thing?”

“You would be a legend. I would personally march back to the tower and see you back to your home,” Grey Beard said with a chuckle. “But it is impossible.”

“We will see.”

The next day, the uneasiness wouldn’t fade. Something in his gut told him the ring could help get him home. If he just took it, it would be the simplest way back, but things were strange in this world. Things he didn’t couldn’t hope to understand. He knew what Mustang would want him to pick. It sounded like if he destroyed the thing, he’d gain allies left and right, and he could divert the Fellowship to help him rather than some pointless quest.

Ed decided. He was going to destroy the ring. Or at least attempt to. 

Ed was smarter the next time he tried to get Frodo’s ring off him. He didn’t attempt it in front of the elves again. Actually, he didn’t let anyone see him do it. Despite the emphasis that the ring was incredibly dangerous, there was shockingly little security around the hobbits. Their room was open to the air through a balcony, and while guards floated around the city, Ed doubted anyone would be on the lookout for someone scaling the side of the structure.

So Ed waited. He spent the days pestering Bilbo for anything he might have leaked to the elves, hoping that the possibility that seeing the future was truly impossible. There was no success on that front. In the evenings, he went back through the histories looking for anything he might have missed with his skepticism. If he treated everything as true until proven otherwise, he wouldn’t be as surprised again, even if the thought of talking trees and demons made him nauseous.

Eventually, his opportunity came. He waited until well past sunset, long enough for the city to grow almost silent. The moon was a sliver, so as expected, no one noticed his ascent to the hobbit’s rooms. It was dark when he pulled himself into their quarters. His eyes strained to see the surroundings.

Only Frodo and Sam were in this room, both breathing deeply and steadily, so Ed rummaged. First, through Frodo’s clothes, then his pack. The more he looked, the more he grimaced. Frodo was always wearing the ring around his neck, but he’d hoped it was annoying enough for him to take off when he slept. It was nowhere in the room, and sure enough, as he edged closer to Frodo’s sleeping form, he saw it. The chain pulled taut on Frodo’s neck, and the ring glinted even in the low light.

Ed could handle this. Either he snapped the chain and rushed out before Frodo could even guess at what happened, or he could knock them out, take the ring by force. He leaned forward, slowly, silently reaching for the chain.

Frodo’s eyes shot open. He gasped, grasping at his neck as he pulled up towards the head of his bed into a sitting position.

“Why?” His eyes were fearful as he gripped the ring. He knew what Ed was after. Why couldn’t he have just stayed asleep? “Get away!”

The noise woke Sam, who bellowed as he fell out of his bed. Ed thrust a warning arm out towards him. He really didn’t want to have to knock either of them out, but he still needed that ring.

“I need to destroy the ring.”

“What?” Frodo was panting.

“The ring. I need it.” Just give it to me.

“Like hell he’s giving it to you.” Sam rolled to the side of his bed, reached into his pack, and pulled out a long knife. Who gave him that? Merry and Pippin better not have matching ones.

“How? You can’t make it to Mordor,” Frodo asked, eyes still panicked, as Sam approached with his blade.

“I have magic,” Ed said, holding up his arms to Frodo, then turned to Sam. “Put that away.”

Sam wavered, but kept the blade up, so Ed disarmed him. With his non-automail leg, he kicked upwards into Sam’s arm, and he dropped the blade with a gasp. Sam recoiled as Ed grabbed the knife and flung it off the balcony.

“Wait,” Frodo said, more to Sam, who looked to be bracing for a brawl, and then refocused on Ed. “You think you can destroy it with magic?”

He nodded. “I do not want to hike when I can destroy it here.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sam said.

“Bilbo says he has foreign magic,” Frodo said, not looking away from Ed.

“He’s going to steal it,” Sam hissed.

Ed stepped towards Frodo. “I won’t. I touch only.”

“How does it work?” Frodo asked, and Sam spluttered.

“Alchemy. I think of an array, and the metal breaks.” They stared blankly at him, so as a demonstration, he clapped and touched the nearest wooden chair. It disintegrated with a crackle. Both hobbits stared dumbfounded at the pile of dust.

Finally, Frodo spoke. “Alright.”

“No, Mr Frodo.” Sam tried to grab Frodo’s arm.

“If he can destroy it, we have to let him try. Don’t you want to go back to the Shire?”

“I do, but not like this. He’ll take it.”

“No.” Ed shook his head, and thankfully, Frodo reached for the chain around his neck. He moved slowly, lifting the chain over his head, and at the last moment, he grew stiff, like he didn’t want to part with it. With a thud, it fell to the ground, and he backed towards Sam.

“I don’t like this,” Sam said.

“We have to let him try.”

“We should be getting Gandalf,” Sam murmured, and Frodo murmured something back, but Ed was entirely focused on the ring now that it was this close. No barrier between him and it.

His resolve wavered. Every warning, all of the political benefits seemed to pale in comparison to the raw potential in front of him. He wanted it, and he could just take it. The hobbits couldn’t stop him. No one could. His hand involuntarily reached for it, then Ed realised what he was thinking and dragged his hand back to his side.

Nothing should have changed his mind that easily. This wasn’t a philosopher’s stone; it was just a ring. He closed his eyes. Think of Mustang. Think of the team. Think of Winry. Think of Al. Unbidden, he thought of his mother and of that night. He couldn’t risk that again just because he wanted something. So he repeated over and over in his head as he readied to clap. It is an illusion. I want to destroy it.

Like moving through sludge, he brought his resistant hands together, forming the deconstruction array in his mind. The ring looked gold, so he would start there.

A faint crackle filled the air, and he heard a gasp from behind him as he let the tips of his fingers touch the gold band. Immediately, He felt the thrum of the material readying to give way. It was gold, but before he could savour his correct assumption, he hit resistance. It was like another force was pushing against the transmutation, and he’d felt nothing like it before. His brow furrowed as he pushed again, then Ed’s blood went cold.

There were flashes in his mind. A dark figure. A burning eye. It was being funneled to him through the ring. It seemed like the ring was connected to another array, and he was now fighting not to deconstruct the gold, but to dismantle another active array.

His mind raced as the pressure built against him. This ring was a perfect circle, meaning the whole thing could be an array. Another flash of images, and sounds could be heard over the rushing in his ears. No, the ring could be something worse. Instantly, he thought of Al’s soul bond. This felt connected to a person in the same way. The soul could be fused into the metal, strengthening it. The ring wasn’t just gold, it was a soul, and Ed was now trying to destroy it.

A voice echoed unintelligible words straight into his mind. He felt shock from the ring, then anger and a flash of fear, but that was overpowered by his own horror as the reality of what he was doing settled in. He was trying to displace a soul with Alchemy. It was human transmutation. He could feel the inevitable whiteness, hear the truth’s laugh.

Ed recoiled and released the transmutation, leaving the array and, more importantly, the soul, untouched. He was thrown in the rebound, and his head slammed into the wood, cracking it. Gasping in pain, he blinked rapidly, ensuring that the room around him stayed dark, that he wasn’t in that white endless expanse.

Someone was shouting. Sam. Frodo had fallen to the floor, gripping his shoulder. Had the backlash been that strong?

Ed sat, head throbbing, shaking with what he had just learned. Someone had stretched their soul across a country, through Truth’s domain. He was right about the ring not being a philosopher's stone. It was infinitely more powerful. It wasn’t just a well of energy. It was one continuous human transmutation, keeping the gate open.

Some maniac had found a way to prop the gate open with a soul.

Rivendell should have been a haven, a temporary place where they didn’t have to concern themselves with the threats outside the border, but here Aragorn was, saving the hobbits in the middle of the night once again.

He hadn’t been sleeping well since the council. Unease filled him, but it was not about the journey ahead. He had already come to peace with his role, even if it led to his death. There was something else amiss.

Ed did not seem threatening, but the enigma made him weary. He was clearly hiding something. He moved, ever so slightly heavy on one leg. His arms and hands were fully covered, yet he wore a bright red coat, asking for attention. Arwen enjoyed his feistiness, but Elrond didn’t hide his suspicions. The rumour was that he was from a different world, and no one understood how he had gotten here. That was what kept Aragon awake. It was unprecedented. There could be others, and they had no idea the threat these people posed.

So he was awake, despite the exhaustion seeping into his bones, using the calmness of the city to calm his mind. A sudden pressure fell upon him. It was faint, but dark, and he knew it immediately. The Eye was watching them. Frodo knew not to wear the ring, but there was no other reason for Sauron to focus so obviously here, and it was stronger than he’d ever felt it before.

His wandering had already taken him close to the hobbits’ rooms, but as he turned towards them, a bang sounded, turning his movements into a sprint. He met Sam out in the corridor, who sagged at his approach.

“Oh, good, we need you.”

“What happened?” His eyes scanned behind Sam, but he saw nothing.

“Ed tried to destroy the ring.”

He had only a moment of shock before pushing ahead of Sam. Inside, Frodo was rubbing his injured shoulder and gathering the ring from the floor. Ed was sagged against the wall, still and head bleeding. He knelt next to the kid, not believing Sam’s statement.

“Are you alright?”

He blurted something in his native tongue before correcting himself. “What is that thing?” Ed’s eyes were wild, shocked, staring at the ring in Frodo’s hand. “He’s been carrying around a person! No one thought to mention that?”

Aragon pressed a hand into his chest, trying to keep him still. “Relax, you hit your head.”

Ed reached up, smearing the blood, then looked down at his red-coated hand.

“I had worse,” he said flatly, then swayed to the side. Aragon grabbed him with a steadying arm. More footsteps sounded outside, and Aragon braced himself as two small figures walked in.

“What’s the commotion all about?” Pippin asked, strolling into the room. Merry wasn’t a half step behind, hands on his hips. “Some of us need our rest to stay this tall.”

He repressed a groan and snapped, “Make yourselves useful. Fetch Gandalf.” Blessedly, between his tone and the blood dripping down Ed’s forehead, they acted, hastily scrambling back out of the room.

Ed was still breathing heavily through his nose, eyes clenched and incapable of speech. Sam was beside Frodo, now both watching Aragorn and Ed, faces tight.

“What happened?” He asked the pair.

“He used his magic to try and destroy the ring.” Frodo nodded his agreement.

Neither were liars, Aragon knew, but still, stunned silence fell over him. It was as impossible to destroy the ring as it was idiotic to try.

Ed’s head was still spinning, and he wasn’t sure it was because of the hit to his skull or the implication of how twisted it would be to have your soul lodged in the gate. Everyone around him was panicky, tense. After the first man came barging in, various elves flittered in and out. Then Grey Beard was there shouting at everyone, Ed included. It wasn’t long before he was practically dragged to his feet and hauled through the city.

The first man, the one who liked to keep in the shadows, walked beside him, arm hovering, ready to steady him. Frodo was behind him, and his stomach flipped. How had he kept something so disturbing around his neck? Ed didn’t think Frodo understood what it really was, and even with the insight he just gleaned, he didn’t fully understand. How much power was funneled? Could the soul access any of Truth’s information? How big of a toll needed to be paid?

He barely noticed the whispers and hushed statements surrounding him, but he stumbled once, the man catching his arm, and he couldn’t ignore the faint clinking sound as he moved. It was the too-familiar sound of small bits of metal banging together. The sound of his automail breaking. He shrugged the man off and tested it. Definitely something was loose, but he clenched his hand and bent the elbow slowly. Everything moved fine, but he could already feel the bruise from Winry’s wrench.

The night just kept getting worse. Before long, they were back in Lord Elf’s favourite spot, and the elf was pissed. He stepped right in front of Ed, scowling down at him. “What did you do?”

“I tried to help,” Ed said, gritting his teeth. The elf bared his teeth, but another brushed him aside.

“Quiet,” she said. “Someone needs to look at his head.”

A stiff, yielding nod, and he was shuffled into a chair while the same elf brushed at his hair and used water to clean the cut. It stung, but Ed barely noticed. He was starting to feel more like himself; the shock was fading. He finally took stock of the expressions around him, and he felt like a child who had just been caught stealing. They glared disapprovingly, disappointed. Ed hated it. He had tried doing them a favor, and now they acted like he’d done something terrible. Didn’t they want the ring destroyed?

When he felt the fastening of a bandage, he shooed the elf off. They were all judging him, but they were the ones who failed.

“You didn’t think to tell me the ring is connected to a person?” He spoke loudly, keeping the waver out of his voice.

Elrond whipped around, ready to shout at him, but Grey Beard spoke first. “Do you listen to nothing? We told you he forged a piece of himself in it.”

Ed opened and closed his mouth. He was going to have to look back at every myth and scan for signs of human transmutation. “I remember.”

“Then is your knowledge of our tongue is regressing? Or are you just a fool?”

“No,” Ed ground out. “You didn’t say his soul, a person is in it. It’s crazy.”

They looked at him, waiting no doubt for remorse, but he wasn’t about to apologize for trying to help. Instead, he looked to Frodo.

“Is there an array? In the ring?”

Frodo jolted. “An array?”

“Writing, symbols. A circle. I did not see but -”

The elf sighed loudly, but Grey Beard answered for Frodo, forehead drawn. “There is writing. It only reveals itself in high temperatures.”

Energy related? “Can you show me?”

Lord Elf stepped forward. “This is not the place or time to be discussing this. We need to understand what Sauran knows.”

“No. If you are going to destroy it, I need to know how someone connected a soul into a ring and who the hell it is.” It was murder if they destroyed it, and potentially worse, if he was correct about transmutation being active, the toll might not have been paid. If it hadn’t been paid and if the histories were to be believed, there was a debt of thousands of years of harbouring endless knowledge and power from it. It would need more than any one person could give, or the rebound could kill even more.

Grey Beard grabbed parchment and a quill. “I have them memorized. You should not copy these down.” He ignored the bafflement from the hobbit and the impatience from the elves. Grey Beard’s writing was smooth and clear, leaving Ed feeling sick. It was the exact same symbols on the interior of the array that had brought him here.

“Too late.” He grabbed the pen from Grey Beard and filled in the rest. It was messy and misformed, but clear enough of a resemblance. Everyone stared at him. “It’s the array, magic, that brought me here.”

“It’s the same?” Gandalf wondered. Thankfully, his ire had faded to fascination. This was a puzzle to solve now.

Ed, too, was getting lost in the implications. This must be why Truth was all weird about the laws of this world. This ring, soul, was binding Truth to the world, and Truth was forced to yield to the lunatic. It was the only thing with the power and knowledge that could yank him to another world. His stomach was still in knots over the discovery, but a spark of hope appeared. Truth had said, “If you find yourself before me again, it means you have circumvented this law. For that, you'll be allowed passage through your gate. No extra cost.” This was it. The ring and the magic behind it were controlling the gate. If he could find a way to detach a soul, then he’d break the connection. Truth could send him back with no restrictions.

While he and Grey Beard were fascinated by the discovery, the elves did not share the excitement. Lord Elf snatched the parchment and burnt it over a candle, saying, “I do not care for this twisted power. I care for my city. What did you do?”

Ed explained the best he could. He told them that he thought he could deconstruct the ring, but there was an unexpected force behind it. They didn’t seem surprised when he described the flashes or voice in his head.

“What did he say to you?”

“I didn’t understand it.” Ed shivered. “But he seemed angry, maybe a little terrified that I was as close to destroying his soul.” It terrified him, too.

“He will target Rivendell. He wants you dead, no doubt.”

Grey Beard leaned against the stone, rubbing his forehead.

Frodo spoke softly, “The ring must leave.”

“Yes,” Grey Beard said, straightening. “As soon as we are able. Tomorrow, if possible.”

“What? It was supposed to be weeks yet.” Frodo looked stunned.

“We do not know his movements, the city could be surrounded in days. We cannot risk the ring remaining here,” Grey Beard said, then turned to Ed, “You must leave as well. If he thinks you can destroy the ring, he will stop at nothing to see you dead.”

Well, at least that wasn’t new. The man left, stating he would inform the others in the Fellowship. As everyone settled into action, Frodo sat, bags under his eyes, and watched Ed. For some reason, that felt the worst. Frodo believed him, trusted him to destroy the ring, and he’d just made their lives harder.

Chapter Text

Ed knew one thing—he needed to stay with the ring. That single, twisted piece of “magic” was how he got home. The array inscribed was too similar to the array that chucked him into this world. With the understanding of the ring, it made sense why Truth would even send him here, so understanding who was behind the ring was his new top priority. It would tell him how to undo this whole mess.

The problem with that priority was that everyone distrusted him. After his beratement by Grey Beard and the elves, the city dissolved into busyness, leaving Ed to simmer in his thoughts and throbbing headache. What company he had was ripe with distress. His tale of the previous night led most to believe he was an idiot for trying to destroy the ring, or that the whole story was a ploy to steal from Frodo. Neither perception was favorable.

A day passed, and things got physically better. His head was aching rather than stabbing, and his arm had stopped its suspicious rattling. Whatever piece had gotten loose had settled into a place, but he knew better than to hope it landed in the right spot. Frustratingly, his status with the Fellowship remained uncertain. He was, without question, being kicked out of Rivendell, but the others were supposedly preparing to leave, and no one had included him. Despite the attempt at help, his most recent stunt likely got him banned.

So Ed stewed, debating what to do. Maybe the others were correct about the mountain being the only place to destroy the ring. There could be a link to the array that created it, or it could be a massive source of energy. If the ring was destroyed, Ed figured there would be little else blocking his journey home, provided he found the right array. Arrays were something he could deal with, but the nagging thought that he would be murdering the soul behind the ring wouldn’t quiet.

That night, Ed rested uneasily. When the next morning came, he had made his decision. He was going to convince everyone that he should accompany Frodo and the ring. He needed to.

He found Grey Beard speaking with two elves just as the sun rose above the trees. Ed walked up, letting his feet fall loudly. The two elves bowed and left as Grey Beard turned.

“Ed,” he greeted with a small nod. He wasn’t as pissed as he’d been two nights ago, but his jovial demeanor hadn’t returned. When they were stuck on the tower together, he’d seen what Grey Beard looked like when exhausted. He was reminded of that now.

Ed held his gaze and announced, “I am going with you. And the ring.”

Grey Beard blinked at him. “Of course you are. I am not letting you out of my sight.”

What? Ed spluttered in response. “I - what -”

“You thought I would let go after claiming to understand the powers of our greatest enemy?”

Grey Beard kept staring, so Ed ducked his head. “Well…”

“You have and understand powers we know not. You are a force driving the fate of this world.” Ed squirmed uneasily. He knew alchemy, and that was it. Anyone could learn it.

Grey Beard sighed. “But you are not as different as we may make you out to be.” Self-conscious, Ed rolled his automail arm, and Grey Beard noticed, finally smiling. “Oh yes, you are unlike anyone I have met, but so is everyone. We are all unlike, so we must find the threads of likeness that are woven between us.”

Ed still wasn’t sure what to say. He clearly didn’t understand this world, and he had no place in it. Grey Beard continued, “Everyone who walks down that path alongside the ring is alike. We have all been pulled to this very moment. Do not let your difference hold you back from doing good in this world.”

Ed swallowed. “I want to do good in my world.”

“Yet another unlike in which we find ourselves alike. Everyone has their own reasons for standing at that council. Just because yours are not the same as mine does not make yours less.”

He left, telling Ed to be ready at midday. Ed ignored the guilt starting to pool in his gut. He had his next step ahead of him and needed to keep moving for Al. He didn’t need to be focused on the pains of this world when he had enough of his own.

He found Bilbo sitting on one of his normal benches, leaning back, seemingly just enjoying the sound of the falls. For all of his spirit and love of storytelling, Ed was reminded how old the hobbit really was. After a moment, he sat beside Bilbo, finally drawing his attention.

“Come to see me before you are off? Frodo visited last night. I was thinking you might have forgotten about me with all your new friends.” Bilbo smirked.

“They are not my friends.”

His smile dropped. “They might become ones. I know I have told you about how crude dwarves forced themselves into my home, and I found myself willing to die for them.”

Ed refused to look at Bilbo. He knew he couldn’t do that, so he stayed silent, thinking of Al.

“I am just saying, be ready for the journey ahead. It’ll be nothing like you expect.”

“Thank you for talking with me.” Ed swallowed. He was particularly bad at goodbyes. He tended to just leave, knowing he’d likely see people again, but with luck, he wouldn’t be back. Bilbo would be in Rivendell, and he’d be in Amestris.

“Ha! That is something I was happy to do. I suspect I will miss your tales far more than you’ll miss mine.”

Ed didn't believe that. He was leaving the only person he’d consider a friend.

Despite showing up right when and where Grey Beard told him, Ed was late. Everyone had already gathered, packs pulled over their shoulders and faces solemn. He fell in beside the group, hoisting his own pack. Everyone stared at his movements. One of the men openly glared, but at least the two hobbits seemed excited to see him. He looked to Grey Beard, who pointedly looked away. He hadn’t told the rest of the Fellowship he would be accompanying.

“Are you joining?” Pippin leaned over excitedly. Ed raised an eyebrow. Why else would he be here? “I want to see the magic you showed Sam and Frodo.”

“Hush,” one of the men said, and Lord Elf stepped forward, opening his arms and addressing the group.

“The ring bearer is setting out on the quest to Mount Doom, and you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will.”

Ed looked to the sober faces around him. No oath? This was practically encouraging people to defect. As Frodo turned, slowly leading them out of the archway, Ed would be willing to bet his state alchemist pay that they wouldn’t all be at the end.

Sam was glad to have Bill the pony. The start of their journey was not quite what he expected. The chaos Ed had wrought in Rivendell only lasted as far as the borders. Aragorn and the elf, Legolas, stayed alert, ready for someone to find the Fellowship, but Sam half guessed that they would be like that anyway. Their journey was slow, with long days and uncomfortable nights, hence why Sam was glad to have Bill.

It kept him busy, thinking about the pony. Did he need to graze? Had he had enough water? It was good to care for something, now that Frodo had an entire Fellowship of people watching him. Sam needed to channel his attention elsewhere. Such as Bill.

He and Bill often trailed behind, matching pace but never setting it. Sam wasn’t particularly excited to reach their destination, so he didn’t feel the need to rush. It was strange then, when three days into their journey, Ed fell back to walk next to him.

He hadn’t appreciated how young Ed was before. His company was always Bilbo or the elves, whom everyone felt young next to, but it was apparent now. He had so much energy. It hadn’t been that many years since he was in his youth, but he couldn’t imagine doing what Ed did with ease. Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and he were constantly asked about the pace, whether they needed more rest, but they had yet to ask Ed. He never complained, and if anything, the further they got, the more comfortable he seemed.

“What’s this?” Ed asked him. Sam shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t share Merry and Pippin’s admiration of the man, and even in contrast to Frodo, whom Sam tried to agree with, he held significantly less respect for Ed. He’d only made their horrid situation even worse.

“What?” He asked, looking back at Ed. He hadn’t expected to be spoken to.

“This.” Ed held out his hand. Inside was a bunch of crumpled grass.

“It’s grass.”

“Can you eat it?”

Sam stared at him. “I suppose, but -” Ed took a nibble of one of the blades. “But I don’t think it would taste very good.”

Sure enough, Ed’s face curled into a grimace, and he dropped the clump, still keeping pace beside him. He showed no signs of leaving, so Sam asked, “Why did you ask me?”

“They said you like plants,” Ed said with a shrug, then pointed. “Do you know that?”

And with that, Sam guessed what the others had done. Both Gandalf and Aragorn surely had more knowledge, and as they travelled further east, his knowledge of plants would be lacking. The others would have been more than capable of answering Ed’s questions, but they sent Ed to him because they were tired. Ed liked to talk, still trying to master the language, and seemed to be consistently bored. His chatting was far more than the others could tolerate, and it was Sam’s turn to pay his due.

Ed was pointing to a clump of bushes. “Looks like holly, but it’s too big,” Sam said.

Ed nodded thoughtfully. “Can I eat it?”

“No. You can’t eat it.”

“What about that one?” Ed pointed to a sapling behind the bush.

Sam felt a little nauseous. “You could eat the bark, but it would be terrible.”

“Boots are worse,” Ed said, face grim. He gestured to the endless fields ahead of them. “What else can I eat?”

So, Sam spent the day discussing edible plants. He’d always found Bilbo a bit mad for spending so much time with Ed, but he was beginning to change his view. Ed wasn’t all bad, and it was nice to talk to someone who wanted to learn about the things that grow. It was a good trait to have.

Boromir had sought to exclude Ed from the Fellowship. He was barely a man, more of a child, and had no place with them, but whenever he tried to address the risk of having Ed along, the elves dismissed his claim, with no one seemingly bothered by it. He attempted to confront Gandalf on the matter, but the wizard was conveniently never around. He even grudgingly went to Aragorn, wishing for the sanity of men, but again he was dismissed with, “It is Ed’s decision.”

Boromir disliked it. He had no recourse, unlike in Gondor, where there were restrictions. Even with the threat in the East, few as small as Ed tried to sneak their way into the army, and even then, only if they showed promise were they kept around. If not, they were encouraged to aid in the fields that supplied the men. His people tried to maintain a semblance of regiment, unlike the elves, who couldn’t understand the ways of men. Boys had to be trained, taught as he was, to carry a bow or sword.

And that was the worst of it. On their first day of their travels, he learned Ed didn’t carry a weapon. He thought about dragging the boy back that instant, but again, no one else seemed bothered, likely on the same reasoning that let four defenseless hobbits along. The average height of their Fellowship was far too short.

Not two days in, he tried to spur some action from his fellows. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Gimli looked over to where Ed was talking animatedly with the hobbits, far out of earshot, while Aragon sighed and responded, “It is not my place to prohibit him.”

Boromir leaned in closer. “You think he could kill an orc? If we are attacked, what good could he do? I already worry about the hobbits, and I know there is no changing Gandalf’s mind about them. We could prevent his tragedy.”

“And when did you pick up a sword?” Aragorn asked. “We should not underestimate him.”

Gimli mumbled something about height not being an indicator of strength, while Boromir shook his head at Aragorn in disbelief. He was so pretentious. He didn’t understand what it was like. Aragorn didn’t have to witness the men of Gondor marching to their deaths. He got to stay in the west, away from it.

In the next days, the only comfort Boromir clung to was that Ed supposedly had magic. He’d heard that Ed had gotten the attention of the wizards and elves because of his unique skills, but he’d yet to see evidence. Ed seemed reluctant to show anyone, and Boromir thought it was likely all an exaggeration because of his foreignness. He knew they were going to be responsible for his death if he did nothing to prevent it.

He let that goal fill him and his free moments. If he couldn’t prohibit anyone from the Fellowship, he could make sure they stayed alive. They were settling into a routine, and it quickly became clear who he should target first for his training—Merry and Pippin.

The pair were excited to learn. They had somehow acquired beautiful elvish knives, appropriate as swords for their size, and, more importantly, they utterly lacked the perception that the others had of them. They believed they could fight as well as any of the others, and Boromir was going to get them as close to that reality as possible.

He started with stances. They were the first things he learned when picking up a sword, and having your arms and legs fall into the right positions was pragmatic. As their training started, Ed tended to watch, but when invited to join, he snorted, shaking his head and saying something in his own tongue.

The trickiest part of instructing the hobbits was time. It was limited to the breaks in the day since they often traveled till dark, making it too difficult to properly see their movements. Boromir started sparring after only days.

To start, he had them face him together. Both planted their feet, as he had taught, waiting for someone to make the first move. Boromir feigned, and Pippin lunged first with Merry right behind. With a swipe, he knocked Pippin’s knife free, sending it to the ground with a clang and Pippin scrambling after it. Merry had a better grip, but his swing was slow, and Boromir blocked easily. Again, Merry went for a jab, but Boromir blocked and pushed him back a step. He frowned and lowered his knife, debating what to do next.

“Keep your sword raised,” Boromir shouted.

“Nah,” Ed said, swinging his body off the stone he had been observing from. It was the first time he had involved himself in their lessons. “Stay low. It is your biggest strength. You can not hit his chest or neck. Go for his ankles.”

Boromir stared. It was a fair assessment, practical if they were in a real fight, but in complete contrast to his instructions. He held a hand to the hobbits, indicating a break in their spar, and turned to Ed. “I am trying to teach the basics.”

“Are basics helpful?”

Boromir tensed, but Ed just raised his brow. He didn’t seem to be critiquing, just curious.

“Yes,” Boromir said, forcing his jaw to relax. “They are the basics for a reason. They provide a standard for how to approach an enemy.” Ed nodded thoughtfully. He was invested, and this was Boromir’s chance to include him. “Do you wish to learn them?”

“Me?” Ed laughed.

“It would be good to be able to defend yourself.”

“I already can.”

Boromir held in a snort. Ed sounded serious. “Oh?”

“I can beat you,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. Boromir couldn’t stop the laugh from breaking from his lips.

“That I would like to see. A spar then?”

Merry and Pippin scrambled to the side as Ed nodded and faced him with a smirk. “Go on.”

Boromir watched carefully as Ed made no move for a weapon. “You have no blade.”

“Do not need.”

Boromir gaped, but once again, Ed seemed serious. There was no way he was risking chopping off an arm, so he dropped his own sword, even when Ed insisted he could keep it. The others had gathered while they stared at each other, both waiting for the other.

“Start already,” Gimli yelled, and Ed moved.

He was fast, immediately coming in for a hit. Boromir raised his arm in a block, but Ed pulled away at the last second, completely missing him. Instead, he swept his leg out. Boromir fell to the ground, while several of the others yelled in excitement.

It was a shock, and it took him too long to get his breath and get his arms under him. His eyes scanned. Ed was letting him rise, backing up a step instead of pinning him. It annoyed Boromir, so he faked his slow rise, only to lunge at the last second and attempt to grapple Ed’s arm. Ed barely slid out of it with a twist, using his momentum to get behind Boromir. A weight crashed into him from behind, and Boromir realised Ed had jumped on him. An arm was around his neck, the other pinning his upper arm. He twisted, reaching with his other arm, but the dirt beneath him shifted. Once again, he fell back.

He had barely a moment to panic about crushing Ed beneath his weight, but the kid knew how to fall. He had shifted, letting Boromir's shoulder take the brunt, and the second he made contact with the ground, Ed was wrapping his legs, pinning his arms. Mortifyingly, Boromir found couldn’t move much. The kid was freakishly strong, and when Ed twisted his arm further, he knew it was over.

“I yield.” He gasped, and Ed released. Anger roiled inside of him. He hadn’t lost like that since he was a child, and Faramir had used his tricks. Ed was already up, brushing off the compliments of the others, but Ed looked happy. That forced Boromir to temper his anger quickly. This was ultimately what he wanted—the assurance that he wasn’t complicit in Ed’s march to his death.

Boromir stood, forcing a smile and a breathy laugh on his lips. “You’re a quick little one.”

Ed’s face flushed, angrier than he had seen through their fight, and before Boromir could back away, Ed kicked his legs out again. A force like steel caught his ankle and sent him to the ground a third time.

“Don’t call me little.”

Boromir groaned and nodded from his place in the dirt. He refrained from mentioning Ed’s height again.

Chapter Text

Forty days.

Forty days was the timeline Grey Beard gave for how long they needed to travel south. Forty long days in what Ed viewed as the wrong direction. He’d seen Bilbo’s maps, and he knew Doom was southeast, and unless basic geometry worked differently here, south was not the most efficient path. Plenty of roads traveled closer to the diagonal, and considering the rush they had left Rivendell with, Ed figured they wouldn’t mind some off-path venturing.

But Grey Beard insisted this was the best path, so they all followed like ducklings. Ed forced himself to keep calm, knowing he should be trusting the others more. Whenever the urge to complain about the route arose, he remembered the trouble he’d already gotten them into by helping before. He should be willing to trust the natives on this, but it was impossible to drop an idea when there was zero evidence to support it.

“It’s too slow,” Ed groaned, loudly. It was not the first time he’d voiced it, but it was the first time he’d done so in front of everyone else. Grey Beard, who was immediately in front, slowed, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of both of the men immediately turning their heads to look at him. The air stilled. None of the others would have complained so openly, but someone needed to challenge this awful plan.

“It is the right path,” Grey Beard said, face pinched. This was also not the first time he’d told Ed that.

“Why? You expect us to follow blindly?” He gestured back, looking to his fellow travelers, hoping the group would back him. The elf looked pointedly at him, seemingly confused, while Gimli ducked his head. Merry hushed Pippin before he could speak. Aragorn stood straighter and Boromir bit his lip.

Grey Beard finally turned fully to look at Ed. His brow was drawn in either exhaustion, frustration, or maybe both. “And what path would you have us take?”

“Gimli mentioned the mines.” Grey Beard’s face turned dark, and Ed continued quickly, “Or we cross the mountains now, so we can angle southeast.”

Grey Beard came to a full stop. “That is a brutal path.”

The footsteps behind them halted. “I can do it,” Ed said, putting his hands on his hips, but Grey Beard looked at him, then gave the slightest tilt of his head. Ed looked to where the hobbits had stopped farthest back. They watched the interaction intently, as did everyone, but Ed understood the gesture. Grey Beard didn’t know if the hobbits could handle it.

But Ed knew he could. Teacher had taught him nothing if not how to survive. He could take the ring over the mountains. Even with the nausea induced by being alone with such a twisted piece of alchemy, Ed knew it would be easier if it were just him and the ring. He could hike faster and anything that stood could be defeated. With his knowledge, he could be the most powerful person on this continent.

Aragorn shuffled his feet, and Ed jerked, realizing he’d been staring at Frodo for too long. He blinked looking to the others, trying to dispel the tension that had formed, but everyone was frowning at him. When he met Grey Beard’s eye again, there was an intensity there he hadn’t seen since Rivendell. For all he knew, Grey Beard had just read his thoughts and was about to “magic” him. Ed backed off.

“Fine, we go your way,” he stated and marched forwards. He needed to trust them, and he needed to show that they could trust him. The ring probably was better in the hands with someone who couldn’t use it. That was a mantra he kept repeating. That soul could do anything with access to the gate, and he didn’t need that temptation. It wasn’t long before the others started moving at full pace again, and Ed fell back into the group, annoyance still clear on his face. When Pippin passed, he reached up and clapped him on the arm. “You tried, mate.” Ed grumbled. “Think of this. The more time this takes, the more chances we get to knock Boromir on his ass.”

Ed forced a smile, knowing he was just trying to be kind, but his gut curled. He didn’t want to fight Boromir. He wanted to fight Envy or Lust and maybe even Mustang if he got lucky. It was sickening not knowing what had come to pass in Amestris without him. Had Kimblee gotten to anyone else? Where was Al? What did they think happened to him? He’d already been gone for weeks, it would be months soon enough. They very well could think he died in that mineshaft. Everyone he cared about was in danger, and here he was in the middle of nowhere, following a senile old man with a ‘magic’ stick.

He stewed for the better part of the day, dwelling on whether he was making the wrong decision, but he wasn’t one to give up easily. As usual, it didn’t take long for his frustration to turn into plotting. A timeline of 40 days gave way to plenty of alternative solutions. Could they destroy the ring another way? The supposed Doom volcano was admittedly a good idea; it was hot, and the rebound of the array would just make the mountain explode. A volcano erupting was a disaster people would reasonably expect and the chances of someone living on the slope were slim. But were there any closer? Grey Beard seemed stuck on the fact that the ring had to be destroyed in the exact mountain is was created in, but Ed saw no evidence to that and besides, they were up against a range of mountains. Surely there was a chance at some interesting geological feature they could use.

Even if there wasn’t, if they could channel enough energy, the ring could be destroyed with alchemy, but without a human transmutation. They could leave the ring in the middle of nowhere and Ed would trigger a reaction at a good long distance, turning the ground around the ring molten. He was proud when he suggested it to the others later that night. Most laughed, and then when they realized he was serious, dismissed the idea entirely. Grey Beard claimed the ring wouldn’t “allow” itself to be destroyed in such a manner. Whatever the hell that meant. Heat was a great conduit for a lot of energy. No gold, even reinforced by an array, could escape it.

All the same, his talk about the ring made people act strangely. It was like there was an unspoken rule that they weren’t supposed to mention it. Everyone got tense when he proposed ideas. Sometimes their sideways glances were hardly noticeable, but other times, people would just straight up walk away from the conversation. Ed wondered if it was because others were nervous he was going to take the ring, or if they were worried he take it before they could.

The only person who took his ideas seriously was Frodo, and he was also the only one brave enough to talk about the thing hanging from his neck.

“Back at Rivendell, why couldn’t you destroy the ring?”

He and Frodo had fallen in pace with each other. It didn’t usually happen—the moody dark haired man and Sam usually kept Ed away from Frodo, calling one of them away when he got close. Earlier, he had been speaking with Gimli, his most common companion, and after he might have mentioned how idiotic it was to spend so much of your life underground, Gimli had fallen into stubborn silence. So Ed had slowed in hopes of catching some entertainment from Merry and Pippin. It just so happened that he ended beside Frodo, so Ed took the opportunity to talk while he could.

“It would have killed me. Maybe you along with me. To be equivalent.”

“Equivalent?” Frodo asked.

“Equivalent Exchange. It’s how everything works. Something can not become nothing, and nothing can not be something.”

Frodo’s eyebrows pulled together, and from behind, Sam protested, “That’s not true.”

So this conversation was going to be cut short. Ed looked to Sam. “Go on. What doesn’t?”

“Plenty of things,” Sam huffed, pulling on his pack. “Plants and such. A seed is nothing compared to a tree.”

A good try, but Ed still shook his head. “They come from the soil and the sun. Just a transfer.” Sam shook his head as if Ed had just said the most ridiculous thing.

“What about fire? It leaves nothing but ash,” Frodo asked.

“Wrong. It gives off ash and gas, air. If you combined it all, it would weigh the same.”

Sam was giving Frodo a look, but Frodo still asked, “What about magic?”

They all looked to Grey Beard up ahead. “Your magic… isn’t right. There is some trade being offered even if it is not clear what.”

“Is that true?” Frodo asked.

“It must be.” It better be, or his whole understanding of the universe was wrong. Even the wizards, who could seemingly just do things, must have a trade unbeknownst to everyone else. Truth wouldn’t just let that slide, probably.

Frodo and Sam fell into silence, and it was times like this were Ed felt alone. Al would have understood the need to question everything and he certainly wouldn’t have just stopped a conversation before he fully comprehended. Together, they could discuss and test the magic of this world, and Grey Beard’s increasing distaste for him would only be amplified with Al. Instead, he was alone and stunted.

Other times, Ed felt alone because these people were concerned about the wrong things. They didn’t respect the fact that the ring could kill them all, easily, but they were paranoid about birds. With increasing frequency, he watched the elf peer at the skies, reporting back to Grey Beard about anything he saw.

That came to a head when Boromir called out a strange cloud, which clearly wasn’t a cloud. It was the wrong color and moving against the wind, but when everyone else picked up on that fact, they panicked. Someone doused the fire while others rolled their packs into the bushes and hid behind rocks. Ed stood there stunned.

“Move!” Someone shouted at him.

Birds. They were scared of birds. Would this nonsense ever end? He was about to question why when a force rammed into his back, and the momentum sent him and his assailant under a large bush. His braid tangled in the sticks, but before he could shout at Boromir for tackling him, Boromir had the audacity to put his hand over his mouth.

The birds flew overhead, and Ed bit his hand. Boromir silently cursed and released him when the squawking could barely be heard.

“Why are you always heavier than you look?” Boromir grunted, rubbing his hand.

“Don’t tackle me.” Ed pulled away and shouted. “What was that?”

“Crebain, from Dunland,” the elf stated.

Ed repeated the question, “What was that?”

The elf tilted his head, opening his mouth to likely give the same response, when Grey Beard rested his hand on his shoulder. “They are spies. For Saruman.”

Ed groaned. How many more of these creatures was he going to deal with? Grey Beard looked to the others, who had now escaped their hiding spots, and continued, “It looks like you will get your wish, Ed. We must turn to the path of Caradhas.”

The third time the Crebain were spotted as a cloud in the distance, Legolas knew they were on the better path. Gandalf watched each time he gazed into the distance, looking for the confirmation that his decision to trek the mountain pass had been the right one. He gave Gandalf a quick nod and their fate was set.

Legolas was content to take the mountain path, more so than the others. Gimli grumbled about going under the mountain while Boromir kept insisting that continuing south and onwards to Gondor was still the best road, but Legolas knew otherwise. The dark, damp, dwarven mines were not what he would consider 'welcoming,' and the risk of being ambushed on their original path was too great. Despite the pass being the best decision, few seemed truly content with it. Even Ed, who had questioned every step south, was not satisfied with the change.

“Where is this path? How much time are we adding?” Ed had asked the moment they finally stepped off the southern road.

Gandalf snapped, “You do not have to be a part of this Fellowship.”

Ed frowned. “I need that ring destroyed.”

“Then help us do it.” Gandalf stormed forward, while Ed mumbled something to his back.

It was bizarre how easily Ed opposed the wizard. Ed, like many of his kind, was too determined to do things his way. When someone only lives a few years, they fail to understand the wisdom that comes from age. Only old men, in their fading years, come to appreciate the knowledge that comes with experience. Although he did admire the tenacity of youth Ed showed. He traveled well, seemingly used to the discomforts of the road, and it was encouraging to see someone so unbothered by the prejudices of this world.

For all his traits of a common man, Legolas still found Ed strange. He was talented, far more than he should have been at his age and his magic was a whole other mystery. Ed didn’t mind talking about alchemy, but few had seen it or knew what it was capable of. All he’d gotten from Gandalf on the matter was that Ed might be the most powerful person in their fellowship, and Legolas was not one to doubt a wizard.

Even Ed’s past was interesting. A foreigner, but from a place none had heard of. Given his capabilities, Legolas and others had surmised that he had been trained in combat. It showed in how he sparred with Boromir and how he observed the road, challenging Aragorn for his attentiveness. There was also the faintest unevenness in his step, heavy on his left side. Perhaps indicating that whatever training he had been a part of had taken its toll.

There was always another thing to set him apart.

The higher they climbed, the colder it got, and the ever chill settled in quickly. Where before they worried about the starting of a flame and the attention that would attract in the dark, their limitation in lighting a fire now was the dampness of the snow and the wind. People slept in close, conserving their heat.

It was strange then, when Ed slept, he kept an arm and leg away from his body while tucking the opposing limbs in. It was uncomfortable, and Legolas wasn’t the only one who noticed the odd positioning.

“No wonder you're shivering. You need to keep your heat in.” Boromir said.

“I’m trying,” Ed grumbled, pulling his right leg under him.

“Tuck both your arms in.” Ed huffed and folded his right arm, but didn’t pull it in any closer. Boromir groaned.

“He’s right,” Aragorn added, and Legolas nodded in silent agreement. No one should be sparing any heat in these mountains.

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, come on.” Boromir reached over and grabbed his arm. Ed twisted away but Boromir’s grip was strong and the glove caught. In one tug, the glove was freed from his hand. Others gasped, but Legolas just stared.

Where flesh should have been, metal shone back at them. It was one of the strangest things he’d ever seen. What magic was this?

“What is that?” Boromir asked.

“Nothing,” Ed said, snatching back his glove with silver fingers. His face was flushed, but his tone steady.

“You’re arm is metal,” Boromir said, still staring at the limb.

Everyone came to look, drawn by the statement. Gimli, the brute, charged in front of the others, nearly knocking one of the hobbits down to get a better look.

As reverently as a dwarf could, Gimli asked, “How much of your arm is it?”

Ed rolled up the sleeve. “To the shoulder.”

“What the-” Boromir started, but Merry spoke louder, “Is that really metal?”

“And you can move it?” Gimli asked.

They all watched intently as Ed bent his elbow, then waved his fingers, indistinguishable from a real arm’s movement.

“Durin’s beard! It’s incredible. Who made it?” Certainly not the dwarves, Legolas thought. It was far too advanced.

“A close friend.” Ed swallowed, then shuffled the fabric back down his arm.

“What happened to your real arm?”

“Lost it.” Pippin gasped, but Ed just shrugged, stating, “Could be a lot worse.”

“The frost could kill you,” Aragorn said, watching Ed’s now covered shoulder. The hobbits watched Ed, terrified.

“Special metal. It is not as cold.”

Gimili, who’d already been examining the metal work, nodded. “Aye, it’s warmer than your steel, but I would not call it warm.”

“Can you take it off?” Aragorn asked.

“I won’t.”

The hobbits demanded to see his other flesh arm, while Gimli prattled on about the craftsman. Legolas looked to where the other leg was splayed out, noticeably away from the rest of his body. Gandalf was smirking the whole while, entirely unconcerned by the oddness. Legolas wondered what else the pair was hiding besides another metal limb.

Frodo decided he disliked snow. It rarely snowed in the Shire, and when it did, it was usually a dusting. He had fond memories of children playing and making figures in the meager amounts of snow, but the best part was when it got cold, you returned to your hole and sat by the fire, warming to whatever temperature you pleased. Snow was always something that could be avoided with a cup of hot tea.

Not anymore. Frodo hadn’t seen snow like this. He’d only heard tales from Bilbo, and even then, the quantity had been impossible to imagine. At first, before any snow fell from the sky, he’d been amazed at the drifts that had formed off the pass. Then, when the first flakes fell, he wasn’t sure it would stop. It had slowed their progress, but Gandalf was sure to rouse them early each morning while Boromir and Aragorn watched them carefully throughout the day, ensuring no one fell behind.

Today, snow wasn’t falling, but there was still a layer up to their ankles from days ago. As they walked, they were silent, and even Ed, ever determined to learn something from the others, was quiet except for his trudging footsteps. His footsteps that were ever so slightly off.

Ed was limping. He was hesitant to mention it, since Ed was awfully reluctant to talk about anything that would make him lesser, height and skill included. He figured Ed would say something if it got bad enough, just as he was forced to reveal his metal arm the night before. But it got worse, and midday, the unthinkable happened: Ed fell. It wasn’t a bad fall, just enough to send him tumbling to his hands and knees, but it was still shocking. Ed’d never had any trouble in their weeks of travel. He hadn’t thought there was much Ed couldn’t do.

Ed shrugged off the concern, but Aragorn still offered him a hand, asking, “Is it your leg too?”

Ed grunted his affirmative, and Frodo stared as he lifted the leg of his pants. There was the same shiny metal. How was that possible? One limb was crazy enough, but to have two false limbs?

“I swear it seems like all of you is like that,” Merry said, leaning around Aragorn for a better view.

“Just the two."

Pippin commented excitedly, “You’re like, half silver of something.”

Ed snorted. “It’s not silver. That is a weak metal.”

“It’s so shiny, though.”

“Halfsilver?” Boromir mused, coming up behind Frodo. “Quite like the sound of that.”

“Oh yes, much better name than Ed,” Pippin agreed.

“Halfsilver, the foreigner,” Merry added, waving a hand in the air, “here to bring peace with the strength of his metal limbs.”

Ed’s face twisted. It wasn’t clear what the difference was, but his face wasn’t the same grimace of pain when he had first fallen. There was something more to his expression now.

Aragorn must have seen it too because he said, “They are just teasing.”

“No,” Ed said, shaking his head, “I like it.”

“The first of us to get a name,” Pippin added with a grin. “Well, unless you count Frodo, but ring bearer isn’t the most exciting.”

“Hey, I wear that with pride,” Frodo said, stepping forward. 

The day was spent talking of other names to assign, but none sounded as fitting as Halfsilver. Ed ensured his upper leg was just getting numb with cold and that all would be fine, but Frodo didn’t miss the way he would subtly clap and touch his leg. He could even see a blue spark sometimes when Ed did. There was some hidden magic there, but Frodo found himself trusting it. 

The day’s conversation lightened Frodo’s spirits, but Sam’s demeanor only worsened. With each day, he grew more bitter, whether it be the chill to their bones or the lack of greenery. They huddled together at the end of the day, hoping to have some relaxation and warmth.

Boromir still liked to spar despite the conditions, and he was clearing a patch of snow and inviting the others to join, although he doubted anyone other than Merry, Pippin, or Ed would join. He didn’t see a need for learning to fight. He doubted he could kill, nor did he want to. Sam seemed to feel similarly, so they watched as the stage was set and Ed and Boromir started with the first match. During a brief pause, Ed glanced their way, then quickly returned to the fight.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo sighed. “Sam -”

“Or Boromir, for that matter.” Boromir took a hit, gasping at the pain. He’d gotten new enthusiasm facing Ed, now that he thought Ed’s advantage was because of his metal arm and leg. Frodo had half a mind to say that Ed would still win with normal limbs, but he wasn’t bold enough to tell Boromir that. “You shouldn’t be alone with them.”

There was wisdom there, but there was a small part of Frodo that hoped they would take the ring. He knew Ed wanted it, and Boromir had always had a mind to get the ring to Gondor. Frodo found little comfort in the path that lay ahead. Already they were struggling, and they were hardly closer to Mordor. If the ring happened to pass to another, well, Frodo could think of worse things.

Frodo shrugged off the feeling and leaned closer to Sam. “I don’t suppose there will be much chance of going off alone. Looks like a storm is coming. I wouldn’t fancy being lost in it.”

A storm it was. The snow started, and didn’t stop. By early the next day, the wind had picked up, leading them into a blizzard. There was no chatter about nicknames or otherwise. He couldn’t hear much over the roaring wind, and it took most of his energy just to follow behind the others.

Time passed in a miserable haze of cold and white. He thought of warmth with each step, but with each step, that became harder and harder to do.

Then, his numb thoughts were disrupted by a horrid sound reaching his ears. It was a rumble, as if the mountain itself was calling a warning, and then Frodo looked up. The mountain was coming down on them. Snow and ice were sliding down towards them, gathering speed. He was grabbed just as Gandalf raised his staff and yelled.

Just as the first of it was to reach them, it stopped. A barrier of ice formed over their heads, sending the falling snow over and off the side of the mountain. Ed stood a pace ahead, his hands against a block of ice. Frodo followed the trail of ice to where it spread into the jagged ice shelf that had saved them.

Had he done it? He must have by the way even Gandalf marveled at it. Before anyone spoke, something foul echoed in the air, and the mountain groaned again. The ice ceiling began to crack.

Ed spat something bitter, then clapped again, and the ice turned to white dust. Frodo just watched helplessly as the white overtook him.

He waited until all he could hear was the echoing of the wind, then he began to push the snow off. Aragorn helped him with the last bit of snow, then moved to uncover Sam. The others had all thankfully righted themselves, looking frost covered, but nothing more serious. Ed had risen with a vengeance, yelling something at Gandalf while pointing to the sky.

Once Merry and Pippin were uncovered and shivering, Boromir joined Ed in his shouting, arguing over the decision to cross the mountain. “This will be the death of the hobbits!”

Frodo had feared that, but he’d been too afraid to voice it. How much colder could they handle? What if the next time the mountain crumbled, it left them with worse than just snow on top of them? It wasn’t unimaginable for larger chunks of ice to fall, or worse, rocks. 

He watched the others, but his stomach flipped as Gandalf met his eye. “Let the Ring bearer decide.”

Sam was shivering beside him, leaning heavily into Aragorn. Merry and Pippin matched their positioning, while Gimli was fighting to get all of the snow off of him. He looked to Ed, who was balanced against the mountain, still favoring one leg. He couldn’t control his heat with his limbs like they were.

Frodo wasn’t sure of much nowadays. He didn’t understand why he’d been given this mission. He didn’t know the way to Moria. But he knew he couldn’t handle any of the others' deaths, especially because of a decision he made. The others might not all make it over the mountain pass. He swallowed and spoke. 

“We will go through the mines of Moria.”

“So be it.”