Author Note: So Elric Day is on October the 3rd… And I wanted to write something for it... Then the fanfic sort of turned into 3 sections, somehow… So the final part will be released on Elric Day… So it is my first multi-chapter fic, Yay!! Even though it is from the point of view of Winry and is very much Edwin, the original idea was that even though Winry and Edward were in love, Edward and Alphonse loved each other more… As brothers… Sorry, no Elricest here. Also, this is based on the manga verse. And has spoilers up to chapter 87… (I got so hyped up about chapter 87 that I got diarrhea… Sorry did you not want to know about that? Haha) Oh, and chrysanthemums might be nice happy flowers here in America, but in most countries, they are given only at funerals and are a threat when given at any other time… Just so you know… Anyways, Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist… Isn't that just a shame?

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There were a great many people attending the funeral, she coldly observed. Some she knew, such as Gracia Hughes (She must have decided to bring her daughter to another funeral so soon was to bring more pain to the youth and wasn't with her), Paninya, Garfiel, and a certain Maria Ross who had returned from the deserts of Xing now that her name was cleared. There were, however, more that only Ed and Al had met during their journey for the Philosopher's Stone and if not for the certain circumstances, she might have beaten Edward over the head with her wrench for being on friendly terms with so many pretty, young women. The rest, and the majority, were people Winry was certain Ed and Al never knew. There was, most likely, more than half of Amestris in attendance, which was to be expected when this was the funeral of the person who had participated greatly in the saving of their country and all their lives, and died for it. Risembool's small cemetery was filled to the brim with people.

The day was cold, and bit harshly on everyone, turning noses red and raw. It was uncomfortable, standing silently honoring the dead hero in the crisp winter air. Rather then raining, like a good and proper funeral, it snowed. Already the grass was dusted with the stuff. All the flower merchants in all of Amertris were probably making a mint off the funeral, for there were at least three times more flowers than people. A great many of those flowers were fresh white chrysanthemums.

Winry sighed and glanced around the crowd, studying grief filled faces of the people she knew the names of and just skimming over the ones she didn't. Colonel Mustang (He'd probably gotten a promotion for his part in saving Armestris, but she wasn't sure) was in attendance, despite the struggle going on for who was to become the next Führer. She watched him for a moment, noting that his ungloved hands were fisted at his sides and his lips pulled tight. His military cap was pulled low, almost like he had done so purposefully, so no one could see what emotion ran through his dark orbs.

Swallowing with difficulty, she turned her blue eyes to Mustang's ever present Lieutenant. Winry couldn't remember the First Lieutenant ever being further from the Colonel more than a few dozen yards, and in the past had wondered what happened when one of them had to go to the bathroom. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood silently, her fair face resembling stone while watching her Colonel, amber eyes unblinking. Despite being severely injured during the mass chaos on the Promise Day, she stood stock still, balancing Havoc who insisted upon standing to honor the hero in the casket. Second Lieutenant Black Hayate sat nobly beside her. Behind Hawkeye stood Mustang's other subordinates and allies.

Among them was Major Armstrong, wracking with loud, unsuppressed sobs. This seemed his pink sparkles were not in attendance. Major General Armstrong wasn't beside him, for she hadn't decided to grace them with her presence. Winry suspected she was among the party of men squabbling about the title to be Führer.

Winry looked away from Armstrong and surveyed the great crowd again. She zeroed in on one particular young woman with pink bangs who stood with the large mass of single, young women who were mooning over Edward. She knew the young woman to be called Rose, having met her in Loir. Her face was crumpled in an ugly fashion, as she tried, and failed, not to cry. Winry wished, slightly irritated, the girl would just allow herself to cry freely. He deserved as much.

Shaking her head slightly, Winry glanced away and over to a dark, hooded figure in the background. She shivered, not from the cold air, not entirely sure how she felt having the murderer of her parents present. Next to Scar was the cowardly Yoki, who looked rather on edge to be there. Mei Chang was behaving surprising well, as well as her strange cat. Doctor Marcoh was among the group too, and his disfigured face looked all the more hideous, crumpled with sorrow and guilt for the loss of the golden-haired hero and in pain from the bitter winter winds biting his raw, deformed face.

Close by them was Ling, now Greed-free and for once not collapsed on the floor in starvation. Ran Fan, his bodyguard, was surveying the crowd too, and for a moment Ran Fan's black eyes met Winry's. The two quickly glanced away from each other; Ran Fan unconsciously touched her new automail arm.

Winry stared down at her feet for a moment, subdued at the sudden eye contact, whilst biting her chapped lips, before resuming her observation, this time the crowd closer to her. They were people who had been family to him, or close enough to be it.

Van Hohenheim, Ed and Al's father, was there despite Ed's wishes. Two trails of tears traveled down his cheeks, leaking from his golden eyes, which were so like his that she felt a pang of pain in the pit of her stomach. All the immortal being, or whatever he was, had left to love was one son.

Near Hohenheim was Izumi Curtis along with her husband, his hand pressed softly and comfortingly on the small of her back, as she sobbed. At first, she'd fought against the tears, but in the end she'd succumbed to them. This was a funeral for a boy she'd loved as much as her own son and this most likely dug up even more unwanted, painful memories. Hohenheim might have made it so she wouldn't vomit blood anymore, but the pain in her heart was still raw with loss.

Her Grandmother, Pinako, stood near her and cried too. Then her eyes fell on Edward dressed nicely in what looked to be an expensive, and uncomfortable, suit. His hair was braided, like always. Winry was overcome with the overwhelming need to reach out to him, to pet him, to cry into his chest. Instead, she looked to Alphonse, not quite sure what she would find when she did.

Predictably, he stared blankly forward, unaware of his surroundings. He was silent and unmoving. When Edward had saved him from the gate, Alphonse returned thin with hollow cheeks. His hair had been long and unkept, as long as his brother's, maybe longer. He'd looked so fragile then, and even more so now. Thinking to herself that an open casket had not been a smart move, she glanced back to Edward.

A pang of hatred for Al hit her heavily. It was wrong of her to think that way, but she couldn't help but hate him for what he'd done to her precious Edward. She hated him more for other things, but she swallowed it away, forcing herself to feel the tender feelings she'd had for Alphonse back when they were children. Or for when he was a suit of armor. Back when things were right.

Winry brushed her fingers against her cheeks, her numb fingers shocked at the feeling of the warm tears that slipped down her cheeks. She hadn't even noticed she was crying. In the back of her mind she remembered Ed's promise the next time he made her cry, they'd be tears of joy. He had broken his promise, she muttered to herself, bitterly.

Steadily, the tears came faster and faster, and she wept louder and louder, staring only at Edward. Edward, who she loved the most. Edward, who was loud, rude, and a bean sprout. Edward, who was now broken beyond repair.

She began to bawl, wailing and howling louder and louder, drowning all the other sobbing in the cemetery. They all watched her with pity, and she yearned reached forward and take Edward's hand in hers, to seek his comfort. For warmth. For life. But all she would find would be death, cold death.

Edward Elric

The Hero of Amestris

1899 – 1915

'One is all, All is One.'

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Author Note: Um… Yeah… That was the first part… And I wasn't quite sure what to put on the gravestone, so I hope it made sense… I also really don't know the set up of a funeral, so I just wrote stuff. Haha. Hope it wasn't too bad. Please review!! (Ack, as I was writing this, a spider just came down right in front of my face from the ceiling with his little webbing and then went back up. Creepy!!)