Award made by Sky Dark
There are words you say in this sort of situation, words meant to comfort. Certain turns of phrase. “It’s for the best.” “It was meant to be.” “It was time.”
Edward doesn’t say any of those, simply stands with his hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers, not knowing – caring – that this screwed up the line of his jacket. Beside him, Winry cries, the handkerchief pressed to her face doing nothing to stop the flow of tears. On her other side, Alphonse has sunk to the ground, face white, swallowing hard, and Edward knows his brother is this close to vomiting.
He forces himself to watch, not turn away, as the executioners are ordered to present arms. Winry buries her face in his shoulder and Edward wraps an arm around her. He’d wanted her to stay home but she refused – stubborn – not about to let him and Al face this alone.
Olivia Armstrong’s voice rings out clear through the cold morning air, announcing the crimes of the Amestrian Army against the citizens of Ishbal.
There are phrases of comfort you say in this sort of situation. A hoarse, “Don’t look,” Edward figures, is one of them, not letting Winry raise her head as the executioners fire their weapons.