William
Hohenheim kept his gaze locked on the ruins before him, wind caressing his hair and the feel of the soft grass warm under his shoes. It was late May, and the temperature had already gone up as a sign of a fast approaching early summer. Hohenheim didn’t even need to wear his trenchcoat, so he discarded it on a small rock formation nearby – that is, what used to be a rocky wall – and walked forwards. Soon enough, he was in the centre of the destroyed structure, taking in his surroundings with a brooding heart.
It was strange how time had a way of changing things. He still remembered more than one such building spread out throughout the country of Amestris, considered holy and venerable, only to be consumed now by a simple thing as oblivion.
The croaking of a raven cut Hohenheim off his musings. Aware that that was a croak of alarm, the bespectacled man turned around, not sure what could have startled the bird. Indeed, a young man was standing several feet from him, possibly in his early twenties. He had straight brown hair, and a pair of green-hazel eyes that now regarded Hohenheim in an inquisitive, though friendly manner.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the young man finally said. “This place is filled with such memory and history, that you can’t help but feel as if you become part of it.”
“Quite right,” Hohenheim replied, not wishing to say that he was history. He tilted his head, looking at the young man’s appearance. He was dressed in comfortable clothes, carrying a satchel over his shoulder and a dun fedora hat in his hand; the heat clearly proved too much for the man. “You’re an archaeologist.”
“Is it that obvious?” the young man asked, chuckling. Finally, deciding that it was only proper to introduce himself, he approached Hohenheim and stretched his hand in a handshake. “I’m William Brice.”
“Hohenheim Elric,” Hohenheim answered, completing the handshake. “I’m not interfering with your work, I hope?”
“Not at all,” William said with a smile. “I came here to make a sketch of the church for my PhD. That is, if you don’t mind my being here.”
“The place is open to all,” Hohenheim said.
William smiled slightly, and he sat on the rock formation, practically next to Hohenheim’s trenchcoat.
“You aren’t from around these parts, are you?” he asked politely, digging out of his satchel a journal and an ink pen.
“No,” Hohenheim admitted laconically.
“May I ask from where are you from exactly? Your accent is a bit strange,” William asked again, though his eyes never left his journal as he started sketching.
Ah… the eagerness and curiosity of youth, Hohenheim thought with a mental smile. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to reveal anything about himself to an otherwise complete stranger. “From lots of different places.”
William was hardly offended by the evasiveness of that answer. If anything, it seemed to intrigue him further.
“A wanderer, huh?” he asked.
“You could say that,” Hohenheim said.
William’s eyes seemed to light up at this. “You must have seen quite the amazing things on your journeys. Have you been in Drachma?”
Hohenheim nodded, even though it was a strange question.
“There are some pretty interesting ruins there,” William explained, answering Hohenheim’s curious glance. “Some miners even discovered a strange stone near the borders; a stone with three different languages written on it.”
“That is interesting,” Hohenheim said sincerely. “What does the writing say?”
“No one’s sure yet,” William replied with a shrug. “But I’ve got to tell you, whoever manages to translate it, he is bound to make one of the greatest breakthroughs in archaeology. And, if we manage to find more such stones…”
“So you believe there are more of those there?” Hohenheim asked.
“There might be. Hopefully I might go there one day to see for myself,” William asked.
“Making breakthroughs of your own?” the bespectacled man asked in mild tease.
“Maybe,” the young archaeologist said. “But even if I don’t, there are always others to take my place.”
“You make it sound as if you’re on a quest,” Hohenheim noted.
William’s face reddened. “It’s a silly thing my father used to say and it rubbed off on me too,” he explained. “He always thought that archaeologists should always search for the truth, and pass down their knowledge to the generations to come.”
“I suppose he was an archaeologist too?” Hohenheim asked.
“Yes. Just like his father before him,” William replied with a nod. “Who knows, maybe my son will become one too… or even my nephew.” He stopped and looked at the sketch for a moment before smiling broadly. “It’s done,” he declared happily.
Hohenheim couldn’t help but smile as well. “May I have a look?”
“Of course.”
Hohenheim reached for the journal that the young man handed him and he looked at the sketch. He couldn’t help but admire the likeness of the sketch to the real thing.
“You have quite the steady hand,” the bespectacled man noted in approval. “You could have become an artist.”
William shook his head. “It wouldn’t bring money on the table, and I have a sister to take care of,” he said. “Besides, this is more exciting.”
“Of course it is,” Hohenheim said, and he picked up his trench-coat. “Well, I suppose I should be on my way then,” he declared, and he stretched his hand in another handshake. “Thank you for the company.”
“You’re welcome,” William said, completing the handshake. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I… don’t think so,” Hohenheim replied. “I’m on my way to Central and I want to catch the afternoon train.”
“Afternoon train?” William frowned. “There are no afternoon trains anymore. They rescheduled the itineraries two years ago.”
“Oh, I see.” Hohenheim didn’t really like this piece of news, but he was also aware that there was nothing he could do about matters. It looked like he would have to spend the night in the open then.
William must have seen through Hohenheim’s thought, and his eyes seemed to flash as an idea crossed his mind.
“Listen… My home isn’t all that far from here and my sister is an excellent cook. You could come to our house and rest for a while.”
“I don’t want to impose…” Hohenheim started, unsure as to how he should react at that offer.
“Nonsense,” William said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. “Trisha always likes meeting new people, you won’t be an exception.”
“Trisha?”
“My sister,” William answered. “Now come along,” he added, beckoning the man to follow him. “Home’s that way.”
Sighing in defeat at his new acquaintance’s youthful eagerness, Hohenheim followed, unaware that he was bound to meet the very woman who would truly capture his heart.
If there was something that certainly impressed Hohenheim about his acquaintances was the bond the siblings shared. Trisha loved her brother, and William took care of the girl like any older brother should. There were even times that Hohenheim felt like an intruder who was about to separate them. For it wasn’t long after that first meeting that his visits to Resembool became more frequent and for one reason alone – to see Trisha.
Neither William nor Trisha saw it that way, though. In fact, as the sympathy between Hohenheim and the woman gradually changed into affection and then into something even deeper than that, William gave his blessing willingly. He had decided that Hohenheim was a good man, and that he would never hurt Trisha. Besides, as the young man declared, if Hohenheim ever so much as upset Trisha, he would just seek him out and kill him.
It was a teasing statement at the time. Even so, Hohenheim soon discovered that it wasn’t said idly.
It was late at night when it happened. Trisha and William had already retired to their rooms in order to get some sleep, while Hohenheim had said that he didn’t feel tired just yet. So, even though the lights had gone out in the house, Hohenheim decided that he wanted to stay in the porch for a little while. He stood by the rail, lost in his thoughts, absentmindedly rubbing his arm, only to snap his head up at the sound of a twig snapping in two. Frowning, Hohenheim looked in every direction to see what could have caused that noise.
“Pinako? Sara?” he ventured. He knew that the Rockbells were good friends of Trisha and William’s, and he supposed that it could as well be one of them.
“No,” a woman’s voice replied. “I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
At the next moment, the woman herself appeared, dressed in a long old-fashioned dress and her brown hair tied back in a bun. She seemed a few years older than Hohenheim, although she moved with an air of someone who was quite young.
Hohenheim clenched his jaw. Though he hadn’t seen that face before, he knew perfectly well who was before him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“To see you, of course,” the woman said, smiling. “I heard you were here, enjoying the charms of yet another young woman, so it was only appropriate to congratulate you. Is she pretty?”
Hohenheim curled his upper lip in distaste. “Unlike you, I don’t change lovers as soon as I am tired of them.”
“No, you just change bodies,” the woman spat. “Tell me… does she know of your little secret?”
Hohenheim clenched his hands into fists.
“I didn’t think so.” The woman stepped closer, her dress rustling as it brushed the soft grass. “You’re afraid that she’ll reject you, that she’ll think of you as a monster.”
“What I’m afraid of shouldn’t be your concern, Dante,” Hohenheim snapped. “It hasn’t been for three hundred years.”
“And after all these years, you haven’t found anyone who could understand you like I have,” Dante said, a sweet smile on her lips, and she boldly clasped his hand in hers. “You and I are no different, Hohenheim, even though you don’t want to see it.”
“I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you step back.”
Hohenheim and the woman turned around, surprised. The bespectacled man was shocked to see William on the doorstep, a rifle in his hands and aiming it at Dante.
“Well, well,” she said with a smirk. “It looks like the princess has a knight to protect her.” She nevertheless retreated, realising that she had lost this round. “This isn’t a goodbye, Hohenheim. We shall meet again – and we won’t be interrupted, I assure you.”
And with that she left, just as quietly as she had appeared. Hohenheim stood where he was for what felt like centuries, but he finally relaxed. He smiled a bit and faced William.
“You didn’t have to go that far.”
“When an unknown woman tries to seduce my sister’s future husband, I have the right to take it as far as I want,” William answered. “Even if the rifle isn’t loaded,” he added, and he discarded the weapon on one of the chairs nearby.
Hohenheim couldn’t help but shake his head. “Then you had placed yourself in an even greater danger than you think. Dante isn’t what she seems.”
William didn’t speak at once, his eyes still on the rifle. “And you are?”
The bespectacled man gasped, his left hand grabbing his right arm subconsciously. William, however, turned around, his face quite calm as he faced Hohenheim.
“I heard your talk,” he said. “So… care to explain?”
Hohenheim didn’t know what to say at first. His instinct dictated him to lie, to declare that William had simply misheard things and nothing more. But the words stuck in his throat in his attempt to utter them, especially since William regarded him with a serene expression that signified he was willing to trust Hohenheim in spite of everything.
“Well?” Will asked again.
No, Hohenheim couldn’t lie his way out of that – he didn’t want to anymore. He would tell William everything, even if it meant risking losing the young man’s friendship and Trisha’s love.
“William,” he started. “What was your dream when you decided to become an archaeologist?”
William frowned, not expecting the question. Nevertheless, he indulged his friend. “To discover the truth about the world in which we live. Where it came from and what its future will be.”
“Alchemists are a bit like that. Except the kind of truth we’re looking for can give us the power to change the world as we see fit, like gods,” Hohenheim said. “That’s what I wanted to do as well. To reach the ultimate truth, so there would no longer be pain or sorrow. Not even death.”
“And?” William asked, still looking Hohenheim straight in the eye.
Hohenheim smiled ruefully. “I thought I had succeeded.”
At the next moment, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing rotten flesh on his arm. William flinched, disgust and shock visible on his features, but he stood where he was. He still wished to hear the rest of the story.
And so, Hohenheim told him everything. He didn’t leave out anything, for once feeling that he could open up to someone and share the burdens that he had been carrying for the last five hundred years. By the time he finished with his tale, the grey cloak of dawn had started covering the world around them. As for William, he listened in silence to everything Hohenheim said, and only spoke again just when Hohenheim believed that the young man would kick him out of the house.
“Do you love Trisha?” he asked softly.
Hohenheim didn’t hesitate in his answer this time. “Enough to walk away if by staying here will only hurt her.”
William nodded his understanding, and a wan smile appeared on his lips at last.
“Then let’s hope it will never have to come down to that.”
With that, both men, one accepting and the other relieved, ended the matter once and for all. Three months later, Hohenheim and Trisha were married, and it wasn’t long before the woman brought to the world a little baby boy with intelligent amber-coloured eyes. And, when Alphonse was born too, it looked like Hohenheim couldn’t possibly feel more at home or loved – he was for the first time truly happy in his long life. William was also by the couple’s side every step of the way, and he loved both boys as if they were his own sons. On the other hand, Ed and Al adored their uncle, whom they called affectionately – and because of their young age – Wayam.
Then William collapsed.
Trisha was always a light sleeper. So it was no surprise that she woke up at once at the sound of something hitting the floor. When she went downstairs to see what that something was, however, she was horrified to see her brother sprawled on the floor, unconscious and deathly pale. She immediately called her husband but, no matter what he tried, Hohenheim couldn’t wake up William. Worse, the young man was burning with fever, so there was nothing they could do but call the Rockbells for help. Yuri and Sara came to the house as fast as possible and, while Sara prepared some towels and cold water, Yuri and Hohenheim carried William to his room so that they could tend to him.
Neither Hohenheim nor Trisha knew how long they stayed outside William’s room, waiting for either of the doctors to come out. Even Edward, who had woken up at the commotion and was now in his mother’s embrace, seemed to understand that there was something very wrong; he kept looking at both his parents with a worried look in his eyes.
Finally, Sara came out of the room, looking quite worn out. Hohenheim and Trisha walked up to her, ready to ask her how was William doing, but the doctor raised her hand, eyes looking meaningfully on Edward. Understanding, Trisha left, intending to tuck her son in once more – she knew that Hohenheim would tell her everything as soon as they were alone, anyway.
What Sara told Hohenheim wasn’t encouraging, though. Neither she nor Yuri could determine William’s illness, but one thing was sure: it hadn’t developed overnight.
“You mean… this might have happened before?” Hohenheim asked, eyes widened in disbelief.
“Not might. Yuri found several old bruises on William’s head and back,” Sara said. “I see you weren’t aware of that,” she added, noticing the surprised look on Hohenheim’s face.
“None of us was,” Hohenheim replied softly, a terrible suspicion crawling on the back of his mind. “How long do you think he’s had this illness?”
The woman sighed. “We don’t know. It could be weeks, months… even years.”
“I see,” Hohenheim said. He took out his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When do you think he will wake up?”
“He is awake,” Sara said. “He’s even asked for you.”
Hohenheim stared at Sara. “Me?”
She nodded. “You can go and see him, but don’t stay for long. He needs rest.”
Hohenheim understood. Nodding slightly in thanks, he stepped inside the room, and caught sight of William in bed. Yuri was still with him, helping him drink water from a small glass because of the weakened state the young man was in. Once he deemed William got some fluids back in his body, Yuri got up and patted Hohenheim on the shoulder in a gesture of encouragement before exiting. The door closed shut behind him with a gentle clicking sound, so that they two men would be alone.
Hohenheim was the first to speak, a sigh accompanying his words.
“I always wondered why you didn’t seem upset over my condition. I suppose now I know.”
“We all have our secrets,” William said, smiling wanly. “It’s ironic, you know… your secret involves your immortality, while mine involves my death.”
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Hohenheim asked. “Trisha--”
“—didn’t have to mourn me before my time,” William cut in. “And now that she has you and the boys, the pain won’t be so bad.”
Hohenheim raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hoping things would turn out that way.”
“Who says I wasn’t?” William said, chuckling softly – a motion that clearly pained him. He paused for a moment to regain some of his strength, then beckoned Hohenheim to come closer. Hohenheim did just that, unsure what to think of matters when the young man reached for his right arm and uncovered the rotten flesh underneath the sleeve.
“It has spread,” he noted in a musing tone; but he didn’t ponder on matters for long. He looked at Hohenheim, a pleading expression already reflected in his eyes. “I leave Trisha into your care now. Don’t hurt her.”
Hohenheim nodded, aware what William asked of him. “I won’t.”
TBC…
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