The first thing he noticed when he came to his senses was the floor. It was very close. Or he was very close to it, but either way the fact was he was flat on his face. On the floor. A rather dirty floor, one might add. It also was kind of sticky and positively reeked of blood.
The second thing he noticed was that it presumably reeked of his blood.
The third thing he noticed, right before passing out again, was a pair of feet in worn out slippers.
There were three of them in the dimly lit room; the person on the floor and two rather elderly gentlemen in rather dirty robes. The taller of the two old men, the owner of the worn out slippers, kneeled besides the third, a young man in his late teens.
"Oh my," said the taller man, inspecting the young man with keen eyes.
"You can say that again, Albus," replied the other, he too now perched next to the man on the floor. "I think I'll better fetch Perenelle."
"Yes," said the other, adjusting his half-moon glasses. "That would be wise."
This time there was no floor. By the feel of the cool smooth cloth against his skin, and the softness under him, it seemed safe to assume he was in a bed. He opened his eyes slowly, as if afraid of what he might see and winced as light, even as dim as it was, hit his eyes.
"Uhh..." he lifted his left hand to shield the eyes.
"Ah, you're awake!" someone, a woman judging by the voice, exclaimed right next to him. He lifted his hand slowly to suspiciously peer at his surroundings. The owner of the voice, a rather ancient looking woman, beamed at him from the side of the bed. It took a moment for the words to register. English?
"Where am I?" he asked hoarsely, throat sore as if he'd been screaming for his life. Which, he reflected, seemed likely all things considering.
"You're at our home, dear," the woman smiled and nodded as if she'd just shared a great wisdom. He resisted an urge to roll his eyes.
"Is this England?"
"Why, of course!" the woman seemed rather surprised by the question. "Where did you think you were?"
He shrugged, and dismissed the question by closing his eyes again. So he was in England. The last thing he remembered was destroying the gate. It hadn't been easy, but he had managed to convince the soldiers to aid and he very definitely remembered setting the explosives and destroying the gate, the huge snake that used to be Envy, and the corpse of his father. After that, the next thing he knew he was laying flat on his face on a floor.
"I fixed you clothes for you," the old woman interrupted his train of thought.
"Oh. Thank you," he replied, opening his eyes again. Wait, his clothes? A quick glance down revealed a naked chest. The woman chuckled as he blushed despite himself.
"Don't worry, I kept my eyes closed," the woman consoled him with laughter in her voice. "Besides, I'm old enough to be your great-grandmother," she stopped to consider something. "Or very possibly your great-grandmother's great-grandmother."
He blinked taking the words in. The woman was had to be either senile or mad.
"Don't believe me? Well, never you mind," the woman smiled. "Oh dear, where are my manners! I haven't even introduced myself yet!"
She offered him a small and very wrinkly hand. "I am Perenelle Flamel."
He took her hand slowly in his left one and gave it an awkward shake. "I'm Edward Elric."
"Well, Mr. Elric. Would you like some breakfast?" she beamed. Edward found himself smiling back.