#roy would probably be a little closer to a pike than a bones in the ranking of it all but.

[jopzer]

had a normal safe and sane reaction to seeing that star trek (2009) was on apple tv rn

[dawnstruck]

Red Sun, Red Silk [Ch2]

[Read on Ao3] [Part 7 of the De-Aging ‘verse]

But something about the way he says it does not sit well with Ed. Maybe it's just his mild accent, the way he very carefully enunciates the r, makes his roll off his tongue in a manner that is almost lilting. Maybe it's the curl of his lips or the knowing look his companion sends him. Maybe it's Ed just reading too much into it.

The streets of Taiyang are a never-ending maze, made even worse by the fact that Ed barely understands the language. He's got the basics down, but the messy vernacular that is spoken by the lower class is nothing but unintelligible gibberish to him. And he would never admit it, but he is kind of grateful that there is a pair of Xingese guards accompanying them whenever they leave the palace.

They are at the market now, him and Al, weaving their way through the throngs of people, stopping here and there to examine the merchandise in hopes of finding some nice souvenirs.

They've already picked out some tea for Pinako, an embroidered handkerchief for Gracia, and a golden brooch for Winry. Ed considers buying some expensive booze for Chris, but he has no idea what kind of alcohol is actually considered the good kind, so he should probably just ask for Roy's opinion later.

After all, there's still plenty of time left. They've only been in Taiyang for three days and barely seen any of it.

The citizens themselves are not paying them any attention. They are busy with their daily lives and, though Ed feels like he and Al stick out like sore thumbs, the capital is used to travelers and foreign merchants passing through.

With Roy it's an altogether different matter. He inherited his looks from his mother, both the Xingese features and the overall regal beauty. Edward had always appreciated this touch of mystery in Roy, just like he knew that Roy enjoyed Ed's unusual coloring.

There was a painting at Central headquarters, commissioned and paid for by the Armstrong family as a gift to the newly wedded Führer couple. On it, Roy and Edward stood side by side in Roy's. Roy in his black dress uniform, his gloved hand holding his state alchemist pocket watch; Edward in a dark gray suit, a book in in one hand, a pike in the other. At their backs was a window with the sky tinted a fiery red of dawn and on a small table beside them a candle holder with seven tiny flames.

Overall, the colors were muted, too somber for true kings, but Roy's polished buttons, the pocket watch, the pike's blade, the candle holder, the gleam in Edward's eyes and the light reflecting off his hair were done in gold and silver leaf.

Edward, despite how much he complained about its pretentiousness, quite liked the painting. He liked how it was the first thing people saw when they entered headquarters. He liked the symbolism that was so obvious when you knew what to look for. He liked how it was flashy in a way that suited both his and Roy's tastes.

And he liked how it was a secretive reminder of how Ed, too, had fought for this nation, how much he had lost, how much he had bled.

Alphonse was their son. But Amestris, for all intents and purposes, was their daughter.

Quietly and stealthily, they had brought peace for their country and few would ever truly understand the extent of it. The people did not know about Dante and the homunculi and all that might have happened.

This stint in Xing, Ed reminds himself, is nothing in comparison to the tribulations of his youth. Politics had never sat easy with him and he feels like he can only be of little help, but he is confident that Roy knows what he is doing. Right now, Roy, Breda and the rest of the team specifically put together for this mission are back at the imperial palace, working out the parameters of the new treatise between Xing and Amestris.

The first steps had already been made when they had started building the railroad tracks that connected Central Station to Taiyang via the so called Eastern Express. It had been an expensive enterprise but one that would pay for itself in the future, due to increased trade and travel. Once the tedious voyage through the desert could be done away with, relations between the two nations were bound to grow closer.

Some people back home had been suspicious. Not everyone was fond of the idea of having a half-Xingese Führer, though it was a really ridiculous notion. Roy was an Amestrian city boy through and through. He looked Xingese, certainly, but he did not speak the language, knew little of its culture except for what he deemed necessary in his diplomatic functions. He enjoyed the food, Ed knew, and had previously praised Xingese martial arts, but that was about it.

Ed himself had taught himself the basics of the language, enough to barter with shifty vendors and to read texts on alkahestry, but little more than that. Cretan had always seemed more relevant to him.

Al, on the other hand, seems to be nearly fluent, thanks to the tutor they had gotten him. After Ed's unfortunate bout of amnesia and almost miraculous recovery thanks to alkahestry, Al had been dead-set on learning the healing arts.

It made sense, all things considered. Granny Pinako and Winry's parents had been doctors. Paninya and Winry had just officially re-opened Rockbell Automail, and even Trisha had had a good handle on healing herbs and natural remedies and the like. Ed, as so often, took after his father, an alchemist through and through, more curiosity than sense sometimes.

It made sense that, even after leading a completely different life than the first time around, Al would still end up as the more caring, the more nurturing of the two.

It still hurts, sometimes. The boy has had a growth spurt lately and soon his voice would be changing into that of a young man. He would no longer be Ed's baby and most of the traces of Al's brother were gone as well, whittled away by the passing years.

He still feels clammy thinking about how Al had initially reacted to the revelation of the truth, of who he used to be. His words had been harsh but not undeserved. He had forgiven Ed, though, as he always did. And, Ed likes to think, their relationship had grown even stronger because of it. There were no more secrets between them and only a handful of regrets. One day, maybe, Ed would even be able to make peace with his past.

And, he thinks with a grin, watching as his son inspects some old books a vendor has laid out on his stand, Alphonse would carve his own path, stubborn like a little creek that grows into a torrent river.

By now, the sun is high in the sky, the shadows sharp around them, but it is not the shadows that catch Ed's attention.

Instead it is the young man and woman that suddenly walk up to him, their stances relaxed but purposeful. Ed tenses on instinct, but then notes how the guards do not seem alarmed at all. When he takes a closer look at the two strangers he understands why.

The man, clad in a saffron-yellow robe and his hair in a long ponytail, is no stranger at all, but the Emperor of Xing dressed like a common citizen. The woman, a few years younger, in silks of pastel pink and white, must have royalty in her bones, too, judging by the elegant tilt of her nose.

“Edward,” Ling Yao addresses him familiarly and Ed bristles. The only one who really calls him Edward outside of official functions is Roy. Otherwise, he's Ed or boss or Professor. As he and Ling barely know each other but are still supposed to make nice, it is perfectly appropriate for Ling to call him by his given name in order to show his goodwill.

But something about the way he says it does not sit well with Ed. Maybe it's just his mild accent, the way he very carefully enunciates the r, makes his roll off his tongue in a manner that is almost lilting. Maybe it's the curl of his lips or the knowing look his companion sends him. Maybe it's Ed just reading too much into it.

“Your Majesty,” he returns, giving the tiniest of bows.

“Young Alphonse,” Ling Yao greets him as well and Al preens a little, the books at his back abandoned.

“This is May Chang,” Ling explains, gesturing to the woman at his side. She inclines her head but makes no further obeisance, proof of Edward's suspicion that she, too, must be part of the royal family.

Ed thinks he can see some family resemblance in them but, with some chagrin, he admits that he has trouble telling the Xingese apart. The fact that their guide who had led them through the desert had cheerily informed them that all Westerns looked the same to him, made him feel a little better, though.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she says, with girlish charm. She must have traveled extensively or even spent a significant time living abroad, because her Amestrian is flawless. Unlike Ed's rough Eastern dialect that sometimes shines through, she sounds like someone from the Western cities, with clear syllables and lofty vowels. It could either be because she actually lived there or because foreigners often tended to over-enunciate. Perhaps she just had a pushy tutor like Al's who insisted on learning High Xingese instead of the many variants found across the more rural areas.

“Likewise,” Ed says, offering her his hand as a test. She takes it without hesitation, her grip solid. Definitely lived abroad then. The Xingese, if they shook hands at all, favored a more gentle touch and generally avoided eye contact, but May Chang's are open and unyielding. Ling brought her here for a reason.

“Shouldn't you be back at the palace?” Ed asks him bluntly. Roy had said working on the contracts would take most of the day and then some.

“A well deserved break,” Ling says, taking it in stride, “His Excellency seemed famished and I needed some fresh air.”

Roy, the idiot, usually only took a light breakfast which meant that he was always ravenous by noon. And here his secretary could not just sneak him treats over paperwork.

“I hope I am not unduly interrupting your excursion,” Ling adds, a cursive glance at the bags in Ed's hand.

“Just shopping for souvenirs,” Ed waves him off, “There is much to see and Al has been saving his allowance specifically for this trip. It seems the money is burning a hole in his pocket.”

Predictably, Al sends him a withering glare but refrains from sticking his tongue out at him. They grow up so quickly, Ed thinks with a mental sigh.

“May I propose a cheaper pastime then,” Ling offers, “I admit I already had the idea when we first spoke but I only now managed to pry both May Chang and me away from our responsibilities.”

Ed remains silent, not wanting to prematurely agree to something. He's not quite suspicious per se, but he does not want to take any chances either.

“May Chang is a healer,” Ling explains, “And well versed in alkahestry.” He turns his smile on Alphonse, “I thought you might be interested in having her show you around.”

Al's are immediately grow to the size of saucers.

“Really?” he asks, looking from Ling to Ed to May Chang.

“It's important to start your education early,” she tells him, mock seriously but not condescendingly, “I became an apprentice when I was only six years old.” “Oh no,” Al seems worried and excited at the same time, “I have so much to catch up on.”

“Would you like to see my practice?” she asks, “Only if your father allows it, of course.”

And Al turns pleading eyes on Ed, the ones he usually reserved when begging for another cat.

“Off with you,” Ed sigh, ruffling a hand through Al's hair.

May Chang smiles and turns away, already leading the way, but waiting for Al to join her, a skip in his step and a barrage of questions already tumbling from his lips. Al had always been a good student and this would be no different.

Ling remains by Ed's side and, with a subtle sign towards the two guards, he dismisses them.

“No bodyguards needed?” Ed asks with a cocked eyebrow and Ling shakes his head.

“May Chang is an exceptional fighter, not only because of her alkahestry,” he says, “Alphonse will be safe in her care.”

Edward had primarily wondered whether the emperor did not require protection, but then he recalls how the darkness at Ling's back had sometimes seemed to move. Maybe all he needed was his shadow.

“Shall we,” Ling Yao says, beckoning down the street, and it is only then that Ed understands that May Chang had not just been meant as a favor to Al but as a distraction. Because now Ed was alone and Ling could demand his attention. For a moment, Ed contemplates just feigning exhaustion or even heat stroke, but then his stomach grumbles loudly.

“Let me treat you to lunch,” Ling Yao says, “Have you ever had fermented eggs?”

“No, but I've had food poisoning and it sounds like the same thing to me.”

The emperor laughs loudly.

“Not an adventurous eater?” he asks, “I'm afraid Xingese cuisine will not appeal to you then.”

“I've like it plenty,” Ed says, “At the meals here and in Amestris.”

“Ah, but those samples were adjusted to sensitive Western palates,” Ling notes, “You are picky eaters.”

“Is it true that you eat dogs?” Ed wants to know, just to be obnoxious.

Ling shrugs. “In Drachma, they eat horses. In Guttka, they don't eat cows. Some people only eat fish and some don't eat animals at all. Everything may seem strange, depending on your point of view.”

“True,” Ed admits reluctantly but his feet have already moved and then he is walking across the market at the emperor's side.

Ling looks completely different like this, devoid of pomp and regalia, just a young man taking a stroll across the market. His shoulders are deceptively relaxed, his smile serene. No one would expect him to be the Emperor of Xing. And indeed, even the people around them do not pay him any attention. It is difficult to tell whether they simply do not recognize him like this or whether they are used to seeing their ruler walk among them like a common men.

Edward finds himself hoping that it is the latter. Even after having had more interaction with Ling Yao during the past days, it is difficult to pinpoint the man and that makes him dangerous. Edward cannot afford to let his guard down around him, not when he knew so much about Roy and Amestris. One thoughtless word could well bring about a political disaster.

It's easy to forget, though. Because Ling talks differently, too, no pretense of grandeur or symbolical immortality, just a man his own age, who barters with vendors and then still pays double, who has Ed try rice cakes and dumplings and other more obscure stuff and laughs when Ed cannot help but pull faces at the unusual taste. He's good company, surprisingly, and soon enough they have circled back to the palace, making their way up the many stairs.

“It looks amazing,” Ed acknowledges both the beautiful architecture and the view he knows they will have from the top, “But it's terribly impractical.”

“But it makes it easier to hold off attacks,” Ling points out, though he is quietly huffing as well. From the way he moves, it is apparent that he must have some fighting experience, too, but most of his day is spent sitting on a throne, just like Ed is primarily sitting in his office, and climbing stairs is just no fun.

It's made worth it, though, when they finally reach the top and Roy and Breda are waiting for them.

“There you are,” Roy says in surprise. He must have been expecting Ling Yao to return from his break, but his words are directed at Edward.

“Hey,” Ed says, stepping closer. He has noticed that the Xingese are not big on public displays of affection, but he leans in to press a kiss to Roy's cheek anyway.

“Where is Alphonse?” Roy asks when he pulls away again.

“Traded him in for some crepes,” Ed explains, offering Roy his leftovers, “You want some?”

He laughs when he sees Roy's sour expression.

“Relax,” he says, twining his fingers through he braiding on Roy's uniform, “Ling gave him his personal alkahestry tutor and suddenly both me and the market were very boring in comparison.”

“How gracious of him,” Roy says quietly, but there is an odd tilt to his tone, and he is looking across Ed's shoulder and right at Ling.

“My sister was only too happy when I told her of Alphonse's interest,” Ling adds, “She is the greatest healer of her generation and she has been thinking of taking on an apprentice of her own.  This will be a good lesson for her as well.”

“We should get back to work,” Roy abruptly changes the topic, “There is much to do yet.”

“Of course,” Ling agrees, “But please, let me drop by my rooms to freshen up a little. The midday sun is particularly unforgiving this month.”

“I think I'll go take a nap,” Ed says. He's not as used to traveling as he was during his youth and he finds the many new impressions have left him mentally exhausted.

“Let me accompany your to your chambers then,” Ling offers, already sidling up with him, “I hear your got lost yesterday.”

“It's not my fault all the hallways look the same,” Ed grumbles. “See you later,” he tells Roy, noting how his expression seems somewhat drawn.

“C'mon, chief,” he hears Breda says as he turns around, “Think of the treaty.”

The temperature shift when they enter the palace is pronounced enough that Ed quickly finds himself shivering, but he notices that something in Ling's attitude has changed as well. Maybe it is because they are back in the palace and he is now the emperor once more but Ed cannot help but think that it has something to do with the calculating looks Ling and Roy had been exchanging. He does not know what to make of it.

“I did not know May Chang was your sister,” Edward says, though even as he says it he recalls how Ling had mentioned it during their first encounter in the throne room.

“My half-sister,” Ling explains, “One of many. They are my father's children with his concubines from other clans as was tradition.”

Was tradition, he says meaningfully, and it was not escape Edward's notice.

“You have no children?” he asks, but he is really asking about the concubines. This, in turn, does not escape Ling.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I have done away with that non-sense. It only bred rivalry and bloodshed. My lovers are willing.”

“Or so you tell yourself,” Ed cannot help but quip. He had seen enough of the world to know that, when a powerful man told you to spread, most people did not have the luxury of saying no.

Ling, however, regards him with an amused twinkle in his eyes instead of looking offended.

“I've heard rumors about you,” he says, “The Führer President was your superior when you were still a child. Some might imply that he abused the power he held over you.”

Some might. Many had. Ed had heard every variation of the tune.

“Do I strike you as someone who's easily manipulated?” Ed asks, trying not to sound too terse. He wonders how their smoothly flowing conversation from before has now tipped into potentially hostile territory again. “You strike me as someone who sometimes bites off more than he can chew.”

“I haven't quite choked on it yet.”

“How long have you loved him then?” Ling asks as though it were the most natural question in the world. Edward is not cowed.

“Twelve years,” he replies, steadfast, remembering himself on his seventeenth birthday, sitting on Gracia's dark stairs and slowly beginning to unravel the mess that Roy Mustang had left in his heart, “We've been together for eleven, married for five.”

Ling hums thoughtfully. He's still got his hand folded inside of his sleeves and his face is tilted back toward the sky in an almost careless manner, but he skillfully weaves his way through the throngs of people.

“It's said that you forgot everything,” he points out, “And that Alkahestry made you remember.”

“Isn't there such a thing called patient confidentiality?” asks wryly, though he can feel nervousness churning in the pit of his belly.

This is what it was all about. Amestris' debt to Xing because Ed had to go and forget his life. And it seems Ling had no issue with openly displaying his ace.

“You were a skilled alchemist in your time,” Ling says instead of acknowledging Ed's comment.

“I still am,” Ed says, though he can feel himself getting more and more peeved. He's never been the best at verbal sparring and Ling's shallowly cutting remarks are setting him on edge.

“Yes, yes,” Ling Yao agrees though he does not sound actually dismissive, “But you were a state alchemist. The youngest state alchemist in the history of Amestris.”

“What can I say,” Ed shrugs because there is no way in hell he is going to talk about how he got there, “I was a precocious kid.”

“Hmm,” Ling Yao hums, all faux contemplation, “They called you Fullmetal, no?”

“Some still do,” Ed huffs. Humans were notorious for hanging on to staples of the past.

“And the Führer President, he controls the flame?”

“He does,” Ed agrees, quiet pride and always that shy sliver of arousal because, even as a young teenager, he had been able to tell that Roy's specific brand of alchemy was hot, both literally and figuratively.

“Ah,” Ling Yao says and smiles, “But the sun has always belonged to the Heavens.”

There's that look on his again, the one Ed can't quite make sense of. He's not good with any of this layered bullshit, when it's people saying one thing but meaning another. It's bad enough when it's happening in politics, but Ed can't shake the feeling that Ling Yao is aiming for a personal level.

He does not like it. His relationship with Roy had only ever worked out because there was Mustang the schemer, the commander, the politician on the one side, and Roy the dork, the procrastinator, the family man on the other. Roy had never carried his two-faced self into the house and certainly not into their bed. Once they had been living together with Al between them, Roy had been nothing but honest and upfront with Ed, and Ed had always appreciated that quality in him.

Maybe Ling Yao is the same. Maybe he has close friends who know the real him. But Edward is not one of those friends and therefore all he gets is the frustratingly smooth facade the emperor offers him.

They have reached Edward's suite now, coming to a halt in front of the door. It would be a natural point to end it here but, when Edward fail to react to his random observation, Ling does not seems deterred. Rather, encouraged even, as though Ed's silence were a kind of victory. Maybe it is. All Ed knows it that he prefers to keep his mouth shut for now, lest he say anything incriminating.

“I would like to prepare traditional Xingese robes for you to wear at the feast tomorrow,” Ling tells him instead, “For Alphonse as well. Would you allow me?”

Edward, which both of them very well know, cannot just smack down a polite request like that.

“Of course,” he says instead, “Al will be thrilled. He loves playing dress-up.”

It's an easy dismissal. Put the focus on Alphonse, present Ling Yao's gift as worth as nothing but child's play, still accept the present. Edward is stupidly proud of himself.

And really, there's a glint in Ling's eyes, like he has acknowledged that Edward has picked up the glove that has been thrown down.

Now it was only a matter of time to see who would win this duel. And whether it would remain a friendly game.