Distant Love: New Sight

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Chapter One: The Note

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Two men stood silently outside of a closed gate, working their shift on the northern wall of the wooden fortress. Sweltering rays of heat pounded down upon their heads, yet neither reached to remove the red and black hats that they wore. The surrounding barren landscape was devoid of all life; but one could run the length of the long wall, finding a similar pair at the next defensive gate.

Despite their stoic appearances, the stifling humidity was taking its toll on the soldiers. One of them seemed to have his arm locked in place, supporting a rifle on his right shoulder. He was wearing the standard military uniform: black pants, boots, and gloves, along with a red and black hat marked with the emblem of the country, and a red jacket, which bore two golden stars on each shoulder, identifying him as a sergeant. However, his age did not appear to match his rank, low as it happened to be. Short black bangs framed his young face and accentuated the twin golden orbs centered on it, but nothing could be done for his size. He looked a mere teenager, perhaps even younger, with his miserable height. In fact, he appeared to be about half the size of his partner, completely opposite in appearance.

The second man was practically a giant; his shadow extended far beyond the other’s. But, if he was a giant, he definitely was a thin one, quite unlike his fit young partner. Skinny arms hung down to his knees, twitching slightly every now and then, fingers fidgeting at the end of his rifle. Dark circles sagged beneath sunken green eyes, making the man - also a sergeant - seem even paler than he already was. The mop of curly brown hair on top of his head did not help much with his lack of tanned skin either.

Both soldiers had small rivulets of sweat trickling down their shadowed faces, and they were breathing heavily in the thick mixture of dry midsummer air and drifting sand. The four-hour shift would soon be over and they could escape the overbearing heat of the desert sunset. It would also be a relief to not worry about having to alert anyone in the fort should any Amestrian armies arrive. After all, they were in the middle of a gruesome war.

A sudden creaking noise from behind did not do so much as startle the two from their vigil. They continued standing in silence, snapping their arms up in salute as a colonel and two other sergeants stopped before them. The highest-ranking man spoke first.

“Sergeant Flamel, Sergeant Oiseau.” Neither of the two moved, still staring motionlessly straight ahead. “You are dismissed.”

Flamel, the small one, and Oiseau, the pale one, simultaneously yelled “Yes, sir!,” dropped their hands down, and began heading into to fort. Before they had gotten very far at all, the colonel spoke again.

“I expect you both to report to my office tomorrow morning at seven o’clock sharp. We will discuss our final plans then.” The dismissed sergeants saluted once more before wandering into the fortress.

Nicholas Flamel collapsed onto his small bed, exhausted from being out in the sun for so long. Mesquin Oiseau sank down onto his own, which was in the same creaky shack that they had been calling home for the last seven months.

The shack, although with little space to spare, had just enough furnishings to accommodate both men. At one end, the two beds sat in their places, although a thin curtain hung between them to offer both occupants a fair bit of privacy, at Oiseau's request. Each of them had a tiny closet with only enough space to fit one uniform and two sets of casual clothes.

At the other there was a kitchen, complete with a wooden counter and cupboards. The kitchen also had a window in it, which had outside of it a shelf. As it was wintertime, a jug of water was balanced on that ledge each night to keep it cool; it was a common enough practice, and very useful. The varying temperatures, from burning day to freezing night, had been adapted to a while ago. In the morning, the water—which would have turned to ice by then—would be brought in and placed in a metal box to keep for the coming day. Life in the desert was somewhat interesting, if not very pleasant.

And it was far away for everyone living there. The fort was at least two hundred miles from the nearest major settlement; Nimby was a very spacious country. Oiseau was around one hundred and fifty miles from his home in a small farmland, and had been forcefully removed to join the military around five months before being posted at Fort Soleil.

Flamel was even farther from his home, and it couldn’t be counted in mere miles unlike Oiseau, who had never spoken of a family. He had left behind what would have been a happy wedding. It was supposed to have taken place months ago, but due to the circumstances, his country’s leader had sent him on an important mission. Not that he was the only one on the mission; myriad others were doing exactly the same thing, but Flamel had no clue who they were, and hadn’t recognized them thus far. Although he wished to know who they were, it was better off this way.

After all, Amestrian spies would not survive long in enemy territory.

Nicholas Flamel was a spy for Amestris. And, as such, he would be acting under an identity other than his own. Sergeant Nicholas Flamel, renowned in the central headquarters of Nimby for his good aim and incredible strength. A young man, not too smart, but one more person to drag into the military for the good of the country.

As if.

Flamel happened to be one of the smartest people in Amestris, and not one with very good aim—except with his goals and insults. No one in Nimby would ever guess that the mindless sergeant was anything close to resembling who he really was.

Edward Elric. The Fullmetal Alchemist, they called him. Temper as short as his height. The People’s Alchemist. The Child Prodigy. Brother to what was once an animated suit of heavy colonel under the command of Brigadier-General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.

Fiancé to Roy Mustang, former womanizer of Central.

There had been some shock within their close circle of friends at that, first when they had started dating and even more after the proposal—which had happened after Edward had resurrected his brother’s body all that time ago, sacrificing his arm again to revive the soul; and for the body, his leg and—

Ed was interrupted from his memories of a few years back by a tapping at the window. Glancing at Oiseau, who seemed to have fallen asleep, he slipped on his boots to hide his automail’s thumping and walked into the kitchen. Opening the window to receive the letter from a carrier pigeon, he gave the bird a small sliver of bread and began to read the note.

CEE:FM,

The opening midnight of Riley’s Run (our warehouse) never is gonna happen to try help everyone’s pointless lovers’ aches. Now today, or come after Riley’s Run? Yami’s over us too.

-BGRM:F

Excited at the note, Edward began decoding what everything meant. CEE:FM obviously meant ‘Colonel Edward Elric: Fullmetal,’ as BGRM:F stood for ‘Brigadier-General Roy Mustang: Flame.’

It was not, however, a message to ask how he had been. Rather, if the first letter of each word was taken into account—a simple enough code—the letter read:

Tomorrow night the plan to carry out.

Breath caught in his throat, Ed gazed at the letter, nervous at what little time he had left. Plan? What plan? Roy had never discussed this with him! He must have forgotten in the rush to get Ed over the border and to organize his own troops for other plans.

Hiding the letter in his left boot as he took it off, he dropped his head to the pillow. Just what I need, he thought, on the edge of despair. Just what I need.

Fanfic based off of the idea of ChibiEdo’s; she’s on DeviantART, and I highly recommend you check out her gallery. The idea and uniform belong to her, and FMA belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

Hope you enjoy! Please review.

Cookies and milkshakes to whoever can figure out the names and country ;D

Big thanks to my beta, FHT.

Revising the fic so far before posting chapter five.