WARNING: Contains spoilers for the final chapter in the manga. (108 Journey's End) If you are following Brotherhood dubbed or have not yet caught up to the chapter, you have been notified.

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. This is called fanfiction. Note the FAN.

I'd also like to thank my beta, receneck, for putting up with my really slow writing skills. Without this person, I wouldn't now know that you're supposed to say "blond" for a guy and "blonde" when it refers to a girl. I did not know that! (And really awesome to know. Heck yes!)

This will be a weekly updated story, but towards the last few chapters, I may post them more quickly. Many chapters ahead are already completed, but this is to give leeway to me and my beta. It is a multi-chapter story with about 10 chapters in all.

Please enjoy the story.

Dog of the Military

Chapter One:

The Game of War

There were always strings attached, and he could do nothing about it. This was the ultimate burden of the silver State Alchemist's pocket watch that he gripped firmly in his hand. And, ultimately, this was the nature of things; to change at will and to be changed when willed not.

Edward was only seventeen, just one year underage, but he was already a fairly high rank in the army. In fact, he had already automatically gained the rank of Major at the age of twelve. But, it was his sacrifice for his brother's body on the fabled Promised Day that cost him his ability to perform alchemy. However, it was then that he realized that this life was what made him who he was; he was no stranger to it, and neither was his younger sibling. His brother, Alphonse, was at least glad that Ed was able to retrieve his right arm back and now only wore automail, or an artificial limb, on his left leg.

He retained the name of the Fullmetal Alchemist, having been too infamous in the military to drop the second title. It was well-known enough within the state's walls that he could no longer perform alchemy, but it was just simply that fact. The eldest Elric may have no alchemic ability, but he certainly kept the knowledge and beyond even that, and what a vast source that was indeed.

Of course, his brother and him had made the decision to explore to the East and West in order to discover a way to restore those who were trapped in the form of chimeras, or half-human, half-animal, as a few of their friends were, and also in the memory of one of their largest regrets, not being able to help the little girl called Nina from such a fate. These duties were put on hold, however, as Ed still was technically a member of the military and occasionally came to visit for small reports. Al, having taken to this fact, came home as well and was now currently in Resembool, a country town in the east that just so happened to serve as the Elrics' childhood home. The older brother took to spending some time in the country's capital, Central.

"Colonel Elric, sir!" A low-ranking officer stood straight and tall before him, his right hand posed in salute. "A telegram from Fuhrer Roy Mustang."

Ed nodded at the man to be at ease and took the piece of paper from him as calmly as he could muster. His amber-gold eyes scanned the sheet for a moment and his eyebrows quickly furrowed in confusion until they subsequently disappeared into the bright blond of his choppy bangs that framed his face and hair that was tied into a braid. He closed his eyelids, obviously frustrated and pinched his nose bridge before shaking his head, stomping furiously down the Central Headquarters' hallways, and leaving a befuddled soldier in his wake.

Barging unceremoniously into the Fuhrer's office, his automail leg kicked down the door as clusters of flying wooden splinters went buzzing past and a rather large hole was now left as the damage done. "What the hell, Mustang?" Ed held up the crumpled telegram angrily in a hand that was gloved white. "You couldn't tell me face-to-face? You bastard!"

"And what's the problem, Fullmetal?" The leader of the country seemed a little too eerily somber for what was on the telegram that he had sent to his currently yelling subordinate.

"Don't give me that crap! I want you tell me what the hell is going on here!" Edward walked so quickly up to the adult man's desk that a witness could have sworn that the teen left behind a track of dents in the floorboards. When he had finally reached the frontal view of Roy Mustang, Ed held up the message blatantly in the face of an apathetic onyx gaze.

Roy almost smirked, but instead took a risk and curiously glanced over the paper as if it were nothing at all. "It's nothing important Fullmetal, just—" He was abruptly cut off by an arm that slammed hard against the top of a pile of unorganized papers and as some of them fluttered in response, the Elric brother continued for him, "—just an invitation to a warzone, Fuhrer Bastard!"

"This is a draft, isn't it?" Ed snarled with disgust, pointing a finger at the man before him. "You're ordering a draft for that Drachman dispute, aren't you? What the hell is that about? Just a week ago, the newspapers said it was resolved!" In reply, Mustang simply snatched the note from his grasp and sure enough, the notion was correct.

The memo read:

TELEGRAM
Central Command

Urgent STOP All State Alchemists to be called for duty STOP
A military call to all those available STOP War is imminent STOP
Martial personnel needed STOP
Fuhrer Roy Mustang is awaiting response STOP
Spread request to all those who are fit for the role STOP

The Flame Alchemist looked upward and shrugged, clearly attempting to send the faux impression that he had not meant the predicament to become anymore than it needed to be. It was evident that his calm façade was fading albeit just barely. Of course, the man had known quite enough on this subject. Who did Edward think he was anyway? His title did include Fuhrer, and the last time he checked, that was basically the top man of the country of Amestris. He had to know these things, even if they had to be kept a secret for a while.

Mustang sighed, rubbing his eyelids with two fingers. "Fine," he said as he finally gave in.

"Fine, what?" Ed retorted in a fierce manner, his gold irises flashing dangerously. The lighting from the daylight sun that reflected off the window made it ever more difficult to stare at him with a straight face. His lips twisted into something that would frighten even the toughest growling lion, and his anger seemed to emanate from every corner of the room.

"Fine, I'll tell you why this is going on," said Mustang. "It's obvious you want to know, and you will find out anyway. You're too disobedient and short to keep anything from, Ed." He felt a smirk grace his features for a small space of time and let it slip away, unashamedly ignoring the shout of "Who are you calling so small that krill can ask a whale to eat him?" Although Ed wasn't so short anymore, Roy noted. The kid was only a few inches from his own height, as opposed to when he was barely at shoulder height not too long ago, and he hadn't quite stopped growing yet.

The blonde raised his eyebrows, standing a ways back and crossing his arms. "I'm waiting," he replied in an uncanny undertone.

"Look," Mustang alleged, quickly glimpsing at the door, "I'll have to tell you in a more mundane method." It was a hint, and Ed was clever enough to pick it up. If Mustang couldn't tell him here, it was only apparent that the situation of the problem between Briggs and Drachma was more of a problem than it already was. The Fuhrer continued on, unfazed. "I think it's time we played chess, Ed. I don't believe I have ever played you."

They had agreed that their unconventional game of chess would take place later in the afternoon the next day, as it was to be the start of a well anticipated weekend and Roy and Ed would be less busy than per usual. With that said and done, Ed decided that it would be best to try the training grounds for an hour or so. If he was going off to a war, which he was becoming surer of now, he might as well refine some of his combat skills. And even though it had been nearly two years since he had lost his alchemy, there were still some things he had to train himself in.

It was no surprise when he heard whispers around him as he entered the pitch. He had gotten used to that when he was younger, but he supposed that the soldiers here were just as shocked to see him walking onto the training field as he was. He hadn't gone on in a long time, not since back then.

He heard murmurs of "Look! It's him!" and "Is that the Fullmetal?" as he passed. Ed had clung to his name for sure, but if he could help it, he would have lost the second title altogether when he had fulfilled what he had sought out for. It seemed that life simply consisted of complications, especially in a life like the one he lived.

Shrugging, Edward pretended his ears simply heard nothing as he brusquely started to strike and kick an eight-foot tall punching bag filled with water. The biceps of his arms began to throb and burn with intensity as the jabs became swifter and more complex. His right leg heated up and he felt the artificial limb of steel that was his left leg creak ever so slightly. Beads of sweat dribbled down his chin.

Sure enough, almost forty-five minutes had gone past in silence with only the sounds of grunts and fists pounding onto fibers breaking the tone. But, Ed knew that the good luck of absolutely no interruptions was too good to be true.

A tall, extremely burly man came sauntering confidently down toward him, bright blue eyes, pale skin, and a light blonde mustache with a single hair sticking up in a curl from the middle of the top of his forehead, was the most unwelcome visitor Edward could have ever hoped for.

"Edward Elric!" bellowed an utterly too happy Major Alex Louis Armstrong. "You are quite well today, as any fair man can see!"

Ed groaned. This clearly was not his ideal start to a sunny afternoon. His muscles were beginning to ache, and he was not so sure he could take a nice, long chat with an overly emotional Armstrong. The man was just excessively insane for his own good, but somehow, even as much as everyone made an attempt to nudge the Strong Arm Alchemist in the right direction, he never took the hint.

The younger alchemist sighed, honestly not up to being tortured in a slow and painful manner, considering how unbelievably annoying it was. "Oh it's you," Edward said plainly, dropping his arms to his sides. "Major—er—why are you here?" It was easy for anyone to notice that the blonde had absolutely no intention of staying there too long. His legs were twitching in a desperate urge to move away as fast as humanly possible.

Armstong laughed, albeit an obnoxious and loud one, and grinned broadly under his mustache, pounding his unwilling companion hard on the back. His azure eyes twinkling and strange, but surely fake or imagined purple-orange sparkles flickering somewhere above his shoulders, he said, "Why surely you will allow an old colleague to spar with you! It is only to your best interest, young Edward!"

Ed moaned at full volume as the Major went on to say, "But it is such a wonderful thing! Generations of the Armstrong line have fashioned a technique worthy of any phases and workings of battle! I shall train you with complete force, Edward Elric!"

And thus the eccentricities of a fun-loving "battle" began. But it was as much fun-loving as Ed hated every waking moment of it. He spent the next hour and a half trying to make a hit on Armstrong, but to no avail. It turned out that there were more than a few spectators, and he wasn't so sure if he enjoyed that aspect much at all. He heard gasps of amazement every time he would make some deliberate or difficult martial arts move, a twirl in the air, or narrowly avoid being punched. In the end, neither the Major nor Edward had landed a blow.

His hands on his knees, and sweat rolling down fast on his cheeks, Ed panted in a hunched position. He was definitely sure that he would be as ready as he would ever be for a war now. All he needed was some artillery practice, and that was that. He shuddered at the thought. The seventeen-year-old alchemist had refused resorting to using gunfire before, but the idea was somehow thrown back in his face, and he saw now that he had no choice. He would not survive a day on the battlefield without a gun, though he decided in his mind that he would only use it if the situation wholly called for it.

Amestris was his country and he was a soldier, a dog of the military, whether he liked it or not. He would serve it and he would protect the people he cared about. This was his job, the job that he made the choice to keep even though he was already supposed to be done with it when he successfully retrieved his brother's body.

He slumped almost all the way over, catching his breath. "Let's get out of here, Major," he said in spurts between his teeth, "I'm starving."

Armstrong could only entirely agree to this, as he seemed to call it fit that he had specifically "trained" Edward in the special techniques of his family lineage, although the younger alchemist begged to differ. The truth was, he would have rather liked training alone and without any improper intrusions from anybody, particularly the man that strutted merrily beside him.

While they walked to the shower rooms near the men's lavatory, Ed picked up more murmurs, but this time they had to do with more recent goings-on and these just so happened to spark his interest. He passed two soldiers in the bathroom in plain, dark blue uniform with gold trimmings, not unlike the one that Ed would soon change back into, he heard it.

"Did you hear?" A man with horn-rimmed glasses and black, choppy hair spoke quietly to another with prominent chestnut hair and stubble. "Sergeant Brosh went missing yesterday." Ed tried to listen in very carefully when he thought Armstrong was busy enough in another stall and washing his face clean from grime and moisture.

"Really?" It was the man without glasses that replied, clearly intrigued. "I thought Denny would never be the man to desert. The military must be on his trail. Desertion means a hearing and a death sentence. Maria Ross might follow him; I hear they're pretty close."

Ed walked discreetly into a stall and pretended to be too preoccupied with having to use it for real, but shut the door with the silvery sliding lock and sat on the shiny, white cover of the toilet bowl. He knew that this idea of eavesdropping was probably the crudest form yet, but he couldn't resist hearing the details. He had to admit that he was curious as to what could have possibly occurred to Denny Brosh. That blonde and happy-go-lucky guy was a companion of his, so he simply ignored the toilet.

He heard the voices tone a bit deeper, as if the men didn't think others would walk in on them. It was a public bathroom. Of course people were going to come in! But Edward threw this thought aside as he pressed his right ear against the wood of his stall.

"That's the problem," one of them said. "There's no proof that he did desert." He heard another confused snort, but the same voice kept on with his explanation. "It doesn't make any sense. He was never drafted into the Drachman border dispute, but I know for sure that he wanted to be in it. I was there. I heard him telling Hawkeye."

A shift sounded as if someone was moving their weight from one foot to the other. "So?"

"He just went missing. They're going to post it on the newspapers tomorrow morning." The soldier speaking lowered his voice further, so Ed had to strain to catch even a scrap of what he had said. "The Fuhrer doesn't have the evidence that he's a runaway. They can't do anything about it."

"So what do you think they're going to do?"

Ed heard a sigh and then a whisper. "Either look for him, or kill him."

When he heard the men leave, the subsequent bounding footfalls of the muscularly built Major Armstrong had also set in, and soon after, the blond found himself washing his hands in the porcelain of a sink and turning the knobs, listening to them squeak. Even though Edward was now technically the Strong Arm's superior officer, both of them were never really so formal with each other, with the exception of how they referred to the other. And this showed dearly when the Major glanced over at the youthful teen near him.

"Edward Elric," he said in a tremor that was almost too stern to be his, "You have heard." When Ed looked up to the taller man in a questioning expression, the nearly bald military officer gave him what could be passed up as a piercing stare. "The war is not only for Drachma," Armstrong urged silently, and he slowly turned on the ball of his heel, leaving a stunned boy behind him.

There was something strange going on here, and Colonel Elric was itching to find out what.

ooo

The next day had finally come without any sign of warning. Ed's morning had begun abruptly, what with his cramped military dorm in Central and his lack of culinary skills. The sunlight was streaming in the most unwelcome of ways and right into his eyeballs, making them throb with an uncomfortable burn and, to add to that, his sorry excuse for scrambled eggs turned out a lot worse than he feared. He was barely able to keep down his breakfast, as it was more scrambled than need be, duly noted as a flat and watery expanse of yellow, but strangely vaguely tasty lumps.

The next couple of hours were taken up by the occasional stiff nod in the Central Command offices and library and the silent flips of pages. For once, Ed kept to himself, and he sieved through alchemic books for new information on anything related to chimeras or battle alchemy in general. He deduced that if he had some practice on the pitch yesterday, he might as well turn up to study anything alchemy could do in the warzone. He had to be prepared as much as possible. There were certain people that would kill him a second time if he had never returned alive.

Crap, Edward thought nervously, I have to call them later.

If there was one thing he feared more than Alphonse and Winry's reactions to an Ed that never came back, it would be his little brother's and childhood friend's response to when he would have to tell them that there was going to be a war in the first place.

Ed groaned. If he was going to do it, he might as well do it now. There was still about an hour left before he was required to meet Mustang at the park and he wasn't so sure that the book's descriptions of "the wreckage through alchemic explosions caused by the rapid movement of molecules in the human body as a bomb" was quite the thing to cheer him up. He even refused to let his golden eyes wander to the black-and-white photo of a brutally mutilated heap of human body parts in a mass of what he automatically assumed was blood that was paper clipped to the edge of the page. It made him shudder.

On that note, the blond closed Alchemy Devastations and Combat shut, causing a few specks of dust to rise off the hard lumber of the table he sat near in the State Alchemists' library. His flesh and artificial legs shuffled as he made his way to one of the enclosed telephone booths outside.

Digging out some leftover change in cenz from his uniform pants pocket, he carefully heard the clink of metal on metal as the coins slid in the slots and he fastened the see-through door closed.

He picked up the phone, anxious to make an urgent call to his younger brother, Al. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he dialed the long distance number to Resembool, and he waited with bated breath for someone to answer. He was almost dreading the shout of indignation and pure worry that would soon fill his left eardrum.

A click resounded. "Um. Hello?" The voice that answered sounded sleepy and curious, a voice, Ed took note, was none other than Alphonse himself. "Who is this?"

The elder Elric brother took a deep breath in. Here we go…"Al? It's me."

"Oh!" The dreary echo that was his sibling's voice only seconds ago vanished into thin air. He heard a happy tone and suddenly he could hear a smile rising in that light tenor on the other line. He imagined Alphonse standing up excitedly and pressing the whole side of his face into the earpiece. "Brother! Are you coming back to Resembool? How's Central? Did you find anything out about the chimeras? How are Lieutenant Hawkeye and Mustang doing? What about everyone else? And did you see—"

He was cut off quite abruptly by Ed. "Al! Listen…" His younger brother must have caught the change in the mood and dimly quieted down as he heard but a faint sound on the other side of his ear. "Look, uh, can you get Winry over there too? It's important."

Edward heard scuffling in the background and a soft "It's brother, Winry" from the Resembool telephone. He had tried to bottle enough courage to tell them. It was better, he surmised, to tell them both at the same time. He couldn't bear having to say it more than once without his head being rammed countless times with a wrench or a good screaming match.

"Ed? You never call." This time it was Winry. On the other line, Ed managed to envision her light blonde hair swaying behind her shoulders, and an ocean-like gaze trying to figure out why her friend had bothered to call for once. He could sense the suspicion that her voice was thick with. She knew something was wrong, and he was more than aware of it. "Did you break your automail again? I swear, Ed! I'm going to destroy your other leg if I have to!"

"No, Winry! It's not that!" He ran his right hand through his bangs worriedly.

The Rockbell was furious and annoyed. "Oh? Then what is it? Al and I are listening."

He was going to get it for sure. As if this wasn't making him anxious enough, Winry just had to add in a death threat even before he said anything of relevance. His eye squinted, trying to figure out how to say this piece of information before he completely lost his nerve. "Uh," he said apprehensively, "Did you read the newspaper recently?"

He heard a snort. "Are you an idiot? This is Resembool. It's a town out in the country where we barely get any news. Spit it out Ed!"

"Okay! Okay! Fine!" The alchemist placed one of his arms in the air in a placating matter although the person he was talking to was miles away even if you rode a train. He picked up another aggravated grunt and realized that he would probably be better off not beating around the bush. "You heard about Drachma, right?" He tried again and only heard some sort of exhale as a reply of 'yes'. He went on, "Well of course you have. You went there…"

"Ed! Hurry up!"

His teeth almost clattered together, but he had to keep himself as calm as possible. "Well, there's going to be a war going on and I'm, um…" He sighed, unable to finish his incomplete sentence, but when he heard Winry growing angrier and angrier by the instant and a desperate Al trying to pacify her, he knew that he had to get on with it.

"I'm going to the war," Edward finally breathed out.

It was absolutely silent and still on both ends of the telephone call. Ed hadn't bothered to say a word more and stood there, glancing at the ground. Al and Winry had not spoken or made any other noise, and Ed was scared to know their reaction. Would they be livid? Resentful? Would both of the people he cared about the most hate him after this? He almost didn't want to know. But if there was one thing the he was sure of, he deserved to be despised.

"I—I see," Winry murmured. "Okay."

He had definitely not expected that reaction, and he felt slightly guilty about it, but they knew that this could happen eventually. They were aware of his dangerous job, but even so, they deserved to know where he was going and why. He pulled a thought out of his mind, hoping to ensure them both. "I'm going back to Resembool for a few days and I'll be there by tomorrow night. The draft will be going around the country, so…"

"We're going to get some news about it soon," Al said somewhere in the back as if knowing exactly what his brother was going to say.

"Yeah," Ed replied sullenly. A consideration occurred to him with full realization. "Listen." He heard his brother's silence and took that as a message that he indeed was paying attention to every single word he said. "I don't want you to take the draft."

"What? But brother, I—"

"No! I'm part of the military. I'm the State Alchemist, even if I can't use my alchemy anymore. Remember? We agreed that I would be the only one to take that job, so I have the collar around my neck! It's just me!" Edward was panting now, anger coursing through his veins. "We agreed that I would stay part of the military after the Promised Day so that we still have access to the State Alchemists' library! Even though Fuhrer Bastard is the leader of this country now, even that idiot can't change the laws! It's too risky!"

He exhaled, trying to calm his emotions down. "Look, Al," he continued in a softer tone of voice, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you." He heard a sniff and immediately recalled who else was there. "And Winry," Ed assured, "I'm sorry too."

And, without bothering to hear any sort of answer, he hung up the phone.

The hour had passed and finally the afternoon had arrived. After just about an hour of an agonizing wait to get there along with an extremely difficult telephone call, Ed welcomed it with open arms. Although, the situation could do without him being late for their meeting in the process.

"Late again, Fullmetal." The smirking tone of newly appointed Fuhrer-King Roy Mustang pierced the air in a deep and conniving tenor.

Ed frowned and stomped impatiently over the dewy grass of the park to the chair that was across from his superior, a square table with a chess set sitting atop it in the middle. They were underneath an oak tree in Central City's Park. Clouds flitted across the horizon of a bright cobalt sky, allowing a few pigeons here and there to be seen hovering in midair attempting to sing paeans. The best part was that they were in a part of the park that people generally avoided, only because it was near the military headquarters itself.

Cars racketed about on the cobblestone streets and all the way on the other side of the area there were the distant sounds of children laughing and barking dogs. Mustang still wore his dark blue military uniform, as did Ed. They were alone, the leader of the country himself and his subordinate, and it was the perfect place to carry out their plans.

"You're going to play the white pieces, Ed," Mustang said as if uninterested, "and I'll be the black."

So they began their game of war, battling back and forth with pawns, queens, rooks, and knights. When it was clear that Ed was gradually losing the upper hand, Mustang didn't hesitate to taunt him. ("Careful, Fullmetal. The pawns on your side are disappearing. Soon you won't have enough to stand a chance.") When the raven-haired man had said this, however, Ed noticed that when he had made his move to take out one of the white chess pieces, Mustang had discreetly tapped the black tile two times with one of his pieces before casting the discarded white one to the side.

Ed shook his head with a sneer. "I can say the same for you, bastard," he said as he defeated one of the black pawns in return.

"You know," the Flame Alchemist began, again tapping the board twice with his chess piece before continuing on in a jarringly calm quality, "the Central library might have a manual on chess. A hopeless shrimp like you might need one." Ed tried to keep his growl to himself. He knew he had to try to keep his cool. Even so, Mustang didn't seem to detect this obvious anger at the word 'shrimp'.

"It's too bad," Roy Mustang said smugly, "They seem to be all checked out."

"What do you…?" Ed did not quite understand what the other alchemist was attempting to say, but stopped speaking instantly when he saw that he still had more to share. So he prolonged the play and watched as he slid his gleaming colorless knight in an 'L' shape, efficiently performing a check on his opponent, but which was quickly expunged. The Fuhrer smiled contentedly when he saw that he had narrowly escaped with his king alive.

"It's useless, Fullemtal. Even your alchemy journal couldn't help you now." He glanced up; causing a short eye contact with his younger subordinate, shimmering gold on dark midnight, but the effect was real. "Not that alchemy could help you in this situation. Someone would just take it anyway."

Ed almost smiled, but it was easy enough to keep down the urge to do so. "You forget, Fuhrer Bastard. I don't have my alchemy anymore."

"Then you don't need to worry for now."

Soon, it was apparent that Edward would lose. Mustang had commended him for a game will played, after all, the boy had never played any sort of chess before. In an ingenious move of castling, in which Mustang's black king had not yet moved an inch and was only spaces away from his rook, the king was allowed to make one special move, suddenly shifting to a safer place on the board. This allowed the black queen to effectively check the white king.

"Shit," Ed breathed, but to no avail. By the time he had tried to move his pieces around in order to escape from the predicament, the play was already checkmated.

"You lose, Fullmetal," Roy tapped the chess board two times yet again, looking at his secondary with a meaningful gaze. "But that's only to be expected. My set was able to infiltrate yours from the inside."

"You know too much about chess. A bastard like you probably has nothing better to do besides this and being a pervert while harassing girls." The blond raised his eyebrows, clearly angry about his defeat, but he told himself that it was no time to argue. This was too important.

The Fuhrer shook his head as he started to bag each of the pieces individually in velvet. His hands that were usually gloved with the symbol of fire alchemy's salamander etched onto the back were bare. He did not even bother to motion to Ed to help him clean up, and the other alchemist simply sat there observing, a determined look in his eye. And with that, Mustang disagreed quite entirely with what was previously stated, "You're wrong. I actually know close to nothing about the game."

He handed over the bag that contained the white chess pieces to Ed, saying that he would rather prefer if he brought them back to the office on the following event that they met again. Somehow, the bag wouldn't fit in when they tried to close and fold the checkered board and stuff the two sets in the interior as it had created a wooden box.

"Clean them up, Ed," Mustang intended, "Those pieces are old, especially the king. I know you're too stubborn to follow orders, but the king needs safekeeping. Shine the bottom or something." Edward nodded suspiciously and began heading in the opposite direction, but Mustang stopped him for a bit, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Fullmetal, the king."

The Fuhrer and the Colonel looked at each other for one moment, as if a secret interaction and message were meeting with their eyes. Then they turned around, one headed for an apartment near Central Command, and the other to the lower part of the city. The information that buzzed in their heads was too classified for them to get a good night's rest. There was too much to think about and too much to protect.

ooo

As promised towards Al and Winry, Edward had bought one ticket to ride on a train to Resembool the following morning at seven o'clock. He had picked up one helping of a croissant on his way to the early train and handed over his ticket to the stationmaster for him to take a glace over. His legs carried him over to the back of the locomotive, somehow finding his way to one of the rear passenger coaches and sitting as comfortably as possible on a plush tan seat. As the train started moving, the porter snaked around each part to check over tickets once again.

"Ticket please," the auburn man said uninterestedly to Ed and he gave it to him to stamp. "Thank you, Colonel Elric." Ed took note that his name was on the perforated paper as the man walked away to the engine room.

The tracks rattled unsettlingly and the floor vibrated as buildings, trees, and hills rolled on by. He would be home soon, if only for a little while, but that didn't change the fact that Resembool was the place he could always return to. His younger brother was waiting for him, as well as Winry Rockbell and her Granny Pinako. In a sense, he was more than glad to be riding back to the place where he grew up, but a strange sensation of foreboding had begun to overcome him since last afternoon.

"What did that bastard say again?" he murmured to himself. He almost felt like smacking his forehead when he recalled."Right. The king."

He removed the velvet bag of the white chess set from his deep red coat pocket, no longer wearing his military uniform as he had packed them tightly into a battered suitcase before departing, and peered inside. He carefully fingered the pieces in the casing until he felt the pointed top of the one he was searching for. Pulling his discovery out, he had procured the ruler.

Ed took a few seconds to study the object, feeling the grooves of the white shape and touching the crown. He remembered that Mustang told him to polish the bottom, to take good care of it. "The bottom," he whispered and his fingers felt for something unusual.

When he flipped it over, the writing was simple: Amestris Games and Boards Company 1888. It was stone engraved onto the bottom, and Mustang was right, there was dirt encrusted into the round furrows. On a hunch, Ed decided it was best to try and twist his thumb and forefinger around the base to see if anything would happen, and luck was on his side for once. The circular foundation of the white king screwed off and dethatched itself, revealing a hollow core. Inside it was a slip of rolled up paper and Ed pulled it gently out, swiftly glimpsing over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

What was written on the sliver of paper was one simple sentence; five words that contained more meaning than they held themselves to. They only confirmed Ed's further suspicions that he suspected of the game, and he was most definitely correct. There was more to a chess board than the naked eye can see. It was up to the player to move all the pieces.

There was a reason that Mustang tapped the checkered board two times before he said certain sentences, and now he knew why—it was a code.

He knew now that the clues dropped were meant for him to decipher, and Mustang knew that Ed would. Edward knew that the pawns, or some of the people of Amestris including a few of the military, were slowly disappearing and that his own nation (the King) could be torn apart from the inside. He knew that the research journals of alchemists around the country were finding their way out of their original owners' hands, and was sure now that there was something missing, a conspiracy still further down the winding path that even his cunning superior could not figure out.

And although Ed had unraveled these points within little time, not one thing could prevent the chilling numbness that those five words sent up his spine.

The enemy seeks the Truth.