Fic: From the top a cherry tree (FMA)
Title: From the top of a cherry tree
Pairing: A hint of Alphonse/Mustang, really...
Rating: PG
Word count: 994
Summary: End of the anime. They are both leaving for a quest of their own, but at the dawn of a new day views of the world are exchange and wisdom is passed along.
Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. I am just procrastinating...
*********
Inspired by lines of Haitian poet René Depestre and French writer Michel Butor, as well as by the FMA Fic Contest prompt "invisible".
Music for writing: Yumeji's Theme by Umebayashi Shigeru.
This fic is unbeta-ed and since I haven't written for ages, my pen is a bit rusty. So if you have any remark or if you spot any mistake, please let me know. :)
Also,Roy may seem out of character here, but I based myself on the wistful side of his character we get a glimpse of at the end.
*********
From the top of a cherry tree
The train station was still mostly empty when Roy Mustang arrived. The concourse was bathed in blue shadows pierced here and there by pale rays of light that stretched, misshapen, on the polished floor. A vivid splash of red caught his eye in this monochrome scenery and he made his way toward the familiar figure. A boy with honeyed hair sitting on a bench, a battered suitcase lying at his feet.
Come with me.
The boy lifted his head slowly, fixing the man with an empty gaze. He turned his head to look at the clock suspended high above the entrance. Ten to five.
You still have plenty of time before your train arrives. Come with me, it won’t be long.
The former colonel extended his hand and after a moment the kid slipped his own into the open palm and allowed the man to tug him upright.
Where are we going? he asked but the other didn’t reply. They left the station and walked up a series of winding streets before reaching a small square. Mustang then led him to a low porch half concealed in shadows and they entered what looked like to Alphonse to be an abandoned cloister. The building was in a poor state, tall arcades gnawed away by time and stone ledges covered by thick vines of ivy. Yet a feeling of serenity permeated the air, vestige of a bygone splendour kept hidden behind crumbling walls. At the centre of the inner garden stood a cherry tree reaching high into the sky past slated roofs. Its boughs were heavy with pale flowers like blossoming snowflakes and Alphonse took in a sharp breath at the sight. But his companion was still walking, striding past pillars, cleaving through the wild grasses and he hurried to catch up. The soldier stopped at the foot of the tree and with the agility that reminded the boy that of a cat, jumped slightly and taking hold of a low branch hoisted himself up. Once again he stretched out his hand and this time Alphonse did not hesitated before taking it. They climbed their way up slowly until only frail crooked twigs remained above their heads. There, they sat precariously, almost touching, legs dangling from either side of the dark bark. Alphonse let a content smile touch his lips, letting the peacefulness of the place wrap around him. Sheltered from reality by dancing veils of flowers, their perfume heady in the breeze, he felt the unrest in his heart recede a bit.
A movement caught his eye , Mustang arcing his arm through the air, designating the world splayed out beyond the rosy blossoms.
What do you see Alphonse?
The boy fixed the soldier with a puzzled look but the man only raised an eyebrow at him so he turned back to the city lying at his feet.
I see Central, Sir.
When only the rustling of the wind answered his words, he carried on.
I... I see the city stirring slowly. The sun is still low. The streets are like dark rivulets but some roofs are shining already... Down the street, at the kiosk, there’s a man installing newspapers, and... I think the bakery’s opening.
Alphonse glanced at the man sitting next to him. He was starring fixedly back at him as if looking for another answer on the youthful lines of his face, his remaining eye unfathomable,
What do you see Sir?
Mustang turned back to the city, inhaling deeply the crisp morning air before replying.
You see that torn up fog on the horizon, incandescent with dawn? I see the desert in its folds, scorching and terrible. I see silent caravans undulating slowly to the rhythm of their travels.
Suddenly pointing a finger at his left, he spoke again, hurriedly. There, those migrating swallows, I see the cold wind of the mountains bellowing like an angry wolf around snowy crests.
The finger veered again, straight in front of him. Across the square, right window, that unmoving shape. It is a man having breakfast. He is reading the newspaper while drinking his coffee, still half-asleep. His wife is probably fixing his lunch in the kitchen and their little girl is sleeping. And that woman down the street, huddled in a coat too big for her. Her head is bent low, she looks cold and tired. I see dull days following one another like beads of despair. A woman of the street maybe.
Suddenly he stopped speaking and sighed deeply. Tilting his head to the sky he resumed in a whisper.
All those years when your brother was looking for the Philosopher Stone, for a way to get your body back, I never really believed he would find it. But Fullmetal was stubborn if anything else and held on this hope with the faith of a child.
The man’s lone dark eye lost focus for a moment and he shook his head, dark strands of hair fluttering on his brow like scattered thoughts.
But Alphonse, he didn’t find the answer in books or rumours. The path you took together, every place you went, every people you met, every bit of wisdom he managed to scrape; that is what led him to the answer and that is what made him who he was.
Finally, Mustang turned to him.
You see, not everything is visible, tangible. Sometimes the answer is in the journey, in the meanders where life takes you. Just... remember that in your quest.
Alphonse swallowed hard, feeling pinned by the man’s unsettling gaze. He wasn’t sure what to think but somehow the man’s cryptic words found an echo in him and an unbidden surge of gratitude flooded his heart. But before he could say anything, Mustang had started slipping along the trunk and stated with a smile, we’d better be going, your train will be arriving shortly.
Pairing: A hint of Alphonse/Mustang, really...
Rating: PG
Word count: 994
Summary: End of the anime. They are both leaving for a quest of their own, but at the dawn of a new day views of the world are exchange and wisdom is passed along.
Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. I am just procrastinating...
*********
Inspired by lines of Haitian poet René Depestre and French writer Michel Butor, as well as by the FMA Fic Contest prompt "invisible".
Music for writing: Yumeji's Theme by Umebayashi Shigeru.
This fic is unbeta-ed and since I haven't written for ages, my pen is a bit rusty. So if you have any remark or if you spot any mistake, please let me know. :)
Also,Roy may seem out of character here, but I based myself on the wistful side of his character we get a glimpse of at the end.
*********
From the top of a cherry tree
The train station was still mostly empty when Roy Mustang arrived. The concourse was bathed in blue shadows pierced here and there by pale rays of light that stretched, misshapen, on the polished floor. A vivid splash of red caught his eye in this monochrome scenery and he made his way toward the familiar figure. A boy with honeyed hair sitting on a bench, a battered suitcase lying at his feet.
Come with me.
The boy lifted his head slowly, fixing the man with an empty gaze. He turned his head to look at the clock suspended high above the entrance. Ten to five.
You still have plenty of time before your train arrives. Come with me, it won’t be long.
The former colonel extended his hand and after a moment the kid slipped his own into the open palm and allowed the man to tug him upright.
Where are we going? he asked but the other didn’t reply. They left the station and walked up a series of winding streets before reaching a small square. Mustang then led him to a low porch half concealed in shadows and they entered what looked like to Alphonse to be an abandoned cloister. The building was in a poor state, tall arcades gnawed away by time and stone ledges covered by thick vines of ivy. Yet a feeling of serenity permeated the air, vestige of a bygone splendour kept hidden behind crumbling walls. At the centre of the inner garden stood a cherry tree reaching high into the sky past slated roofs. Its boughs were heavy with pale flowers like blossoming snowflakes and Alphonse took in a sharp breath at the sight. But his companion was still walking, striding past pillars, cleaving through the wild grasses and he hurried to catch up. The soldier stopped at the foot of the tree and with the agility that reminded the boy that of a cat, jumped slightly and taking hold of a low branch hoisted himself up. Once again he stretched out his hand and this time Alphonse did not hesitated before taking it. They climbed their way up slowly until only frail crooked twigs remained above their heads. There, they sat precariously, almost touching, legs dangling from either side of the dark bark. Alphonse let a content smile touch his lips, letting the peacefulness of the place wrap around him. Sheltered from reality by dancing veils of flowers, their perfume heady in the breeze, he felt the unrest in his heart recede a bit.
A movement caught his eye , Mustang arcing his arm through the air, designating the world splayed out beyond the rosy blossoms.
What do you see Alphonse?
The boy fixed the soldier with a puzzled look but the man only raised an eyebrow at him so he turned back to the city lying at his feet.
I see Central, Sir.
When only the rustling of the wind answered his words, he carried on.
I... I see the city stirring slowly. The sun is still low. The streets are like dark rivulets but some roofs are shining already... Down the street, at the kiosk, there’s a man installing newspapers, and... I think the bakery’s opening.
Alphonse glanced at the man sitting next to him. He was starring fixedly back at him as if looking for another answer on the youthful lines of his face, his remaining eye unfathomable,
What do you see Sir?
Mustang turned back to the city, inhaling deeply the crisp morning air before replying.
You see that torn up fog on the horizon, incandescent with dawn? I see the desert in its folds, scorching and terrible. I see silent caravans undulating slowly to the rhythm of their travels.
Suddenly pointing a finger at his left, he spoke again, hurriedly. There, those migrating swallows, I see the cold wind of the mountains bellowing like an angry wolf around snowy crests.
The finger veered again, straight in front of him. Across the square, right window, that unmoving shape. It is a man having breakfast. He is reading the newspaper while drinking his coffee, still half-asleep. His wife is probably fixing his lunch in the kitchen and their little girl is sleeping. And that woman down the street, huddled in a coat too big for her. Her head is bent low, she looks cold and tired. I see dull days following one another like beads of despair. A woman of the street maybe.
Suddenly he stopped speaking and sighed deeply. Tilting his head to the sky he resumed in a whisper.
All those years when your brother was looking for the Philosopher Stone, for a way to get your body back, I never really believed he would find it. But Fullmetal was stubborn if anything else and held on this hope with the faith of a child.
The man’s lone dark eye lost focus for a moment and he shook his head, dark strands of hair fluttering on his brow like scattered thoughts.
But Alphonse, he didn’t find the answer in books or rumours. The path you took together, every place you went, every people you met, every bit of wisdom he managed to scrape; that is what led him to the answer and that is what made him who he was.
Finally, Mustang turned to him.
You see, not everything is visible, tangible. Sometimes the answer is in the journey, in the meanders where life takes you. Just... remember that in your quest.
Alphonse swallowed hard, feeling pinned by the man’s unsettling gaze. He wasn’t sure what to think but somehow the man’s cryptic words found an echo in him and an unbidden surge of gratitude flooded his heart. But before he could say anything, Mustang had started slipping along the trunk and stated with a smile, we’d better be going, your train will be arriving shortly.