Nothing Gold, Ling/Ed - part 2
Continued from here.
Al and Winry's second child was a boy by the name of Matthew, with his father's hair and his mother's eyes. Ling had not seen him in person since he was a baby, but he had seen pictures. And now, he was the only person on the platform where Ed was supposed to be waiting for him.
Ling descended the steps of the train gracefully, feeling light and free in his travelling clothing. Traveling was a blessing in disguise, because no one expected him to be in full Emperor regalia when he was moving through tight passageways and small doorways. He sometimes secretly wondered if the Emperor's tailor was the real assassin in many cases in the past-an Emperor should be able to defend himself, but could not if he was rendered immobile by his own clothing.
"Um," Matthew said when Ling descended the stairs. He looked very unsure of himself and worried. Ling wondered if he knew how many people were watching him to make sure he didn't try anything on the Emperor of Xing. "You're Mr. Yao?"
Ling nodded encouragingly.
"Um, Uncle Ed wanted to talk to you before you leave. There are no other trains today, so can yours wait?" the young man asked.
Ling smiled and turned back to the train. "Make it happen," he said, and there was immediate movement from the servants within. A pair of guards appeared at his sides as he stepped further out onto the platform, and he sighed in annoyance. He knew they would always be there and always be useless...but oh well. Tradition was tradition, and over protectiveness rarely got people killed.
"All right," he said amicably to Matthew. "I am ready. Where is your uncle?"
"This way...um, sir."
They traveled down a long, winding road that Ling remembered vaguely from his last visit here years and years ago. It was a gravel road heading the opposite way of the town, and a cemetery was visible over one of the hills. Outside the cemetery gates was parked an old fashioned blue car that Ling recognized as the one Al had driven to the station two weeks ago.
Matthew escorted him to the gates and pointed to something out of Ling's line of vision. "Fifth row in, all the way to the right," he said.
"Ah, of course. This is slightly bigger than the last time I was here," Ling commented, stepping through the gates. He paused, then. "Thank you, Matthew. You two can stay here." The last bit was directed at his imperial guard. There were more of them, Ling could sense them, but they would take the hint as well, he was certain.
He found Ed standing in front of a pair of graves, wearing a dark brown coat and leaning against a walking stick. The stick was new; he had refused the idea just as soon as Ling could conjure it up back in Xing. That was interesting.
Ling had thought he was soundless, but Ed picked up on his presence anyway. "Al's reserved he and Winry a plot just over there," he said as Ling approached, pointing to an empty bit of grass a row over. "Asked me if I wanted something here."
"What did you tell him?" Ling placed a hand on Ed's flesh shoulder.
"I told him no, at first. I mean, it would seem silly to drag my body all the way over here just to be buried, you know?" Ed murmured. "But then I started thinking, you know, it might not be so bad. Might be nice. I could be buried by Mom and...and that bastard father of mine. By Uncle and Auntie Rockbell, and by Granny, and eventually, by Al and Winry. You know?"
This conversation was not something Ling wanted to be having, not now and not ever. He didn't want to think about the day that Ed wouldn't be there for him any longer and what he was going to do with that. He hadn't considered where he wanted Ed to be buried. But somehow, it wasn't here.
"Is that what you want?" Ling asked cautiously, unsure of where this conversation was headed.
"I don't know." Ed looked up at Ling, finally, and his eyes were filled with conflict-more conflict than there should be if he was just debating on where he wanted to be buried. Ling was suddenly very worried. "Ling, this is...the last time I'm ever going to get to be here. It's only going to get harder to travel. I'm never coming back here."
A horrifying understanding came over Ling. "Ed..."
"I-I...I don't want to leave!"
Ling closed his eyes and thought about all those times so many years ago when Ed would leave the palace for weeks at a time, about how he had felt when Ed had walked out the door. He thought about how he had felt when he found out that Ed could not longer travel easily, how he had longed for something to make Ed happy again.
Was this it? Did he really have to leave Ed here?
He found himself stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Ed, as tightly as he could manage. Ed dropped his stick and clung to Ling's torso, burying his face in Ling's shoulder, and for a moment, neither one of them spoke. What could he say? How could he beg Ed not to leave him, not to stay here, when getting on that train would just invoke twelve hours of unspeakable pain? How could he ask Ed to leave the town where he was born, where his brother and best friend lived, where his nieces and nephews stayed, where his parents were buried?
But he could, because it was what he wanted, and it was such a strong and encompassing desire that the very thought of going back to Xing without Ed was just absurd. He knew he couldn't take Ed against his will, and he wouldn't think of it, but that didn't mean he couldn't try and sway Ed's decision. Perhaps he was taking Ed away from Rizenbul and Amestris forever, but Ed had a home in Xing too.
"Please come home with me," Ling said, and that was all he could say. Please come home. Please leave this place. Please. Please.
"I'm just," Ed murmured, and then stopped for a moment. "I'm just not ready to say goodbye."
Ling's heart leapt in his chest. Did that mean Ed was coming with him? He pressed his lips to the top of Ed's head, still holding him probably a little too tightly. "My train can't idle in the station forever."
Ed sighed and shifted, finally pulling away from Ling. "Yeah, I know. All my stuff is in Al's car. He let me borrow it. Matthew is playing chauffer." He reached for the discarded walking stick, but Ling beat him to it.
"Did you already say goodbye?"
"Yeah." Ed hesitated and then took his stick back from Ling. "Before you can ask, Winry gave it to me. I guess a lot of people with automail have problems when they get older. She said this should help out a bit." He began a slow hobble toward the entrance of the cemetery, and Ling followed.
"Ed." Ling was surprised; he hadn't meant to say anything, but there was some guilt he hadn't worked through just yet. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, let what was happening continue, because he was getting Ed back. But he couldn't help it. Ed stopped and glanced at him, and Ling couldn't quite make eye contact. "You do want to go back, don't you?"
Ed took a deep breath. "Of course I do. All my research is there. And I couldn't abandon Jian and Lihua, and...there's you, and your goddamn wonderful bed," he said slowly. He looked up at Ling's face. "My life is there now. With you. There's no question of that. But that doesn't mean I won't miss this. That I won't miss here."
After a moment of silence, Ling stepped up behind him and put his arm around Ed's waist. These were the words he needed to hear. As much as he needed Ed, he needed Ed to need him almost just as much. As much as he needed Ed to come home with him, he needed Ed to want to come home too.
He looked down at Ed, and Ed glanced up at him. He sneaked a kiss and a nuzzle, and then they started walking. "Let's go home," he said, and Ed looked at the car and the road to his brother's house and the empty countryside, and then he nodded.
"Yeah. Let's go."
~
Starting with the moment that Ed told Ling about his joint pains, Ling found himself watching Ed. It annoyed him that he hadn't realized Ed was hurting for so long. It bothered him that Ed had hidden it, waiting for him to notice. It bothered him more that he had not asked, waiting for Ed to tell him. If something else went wrong (and really, he was beginning to understand that it was only a matter of time until it did), he wanted to know about it.
But it was frustrating. Ling couldn't tell what was arthritis, what was aging, and what was something else altogether, or even if there was something else at all. And so he would ask Ed how he was doing every night, admitting his guilt over not realizing Ed's trouble with arthritis. Ed told him each night, at first, finding Ling's inquiries amusing or something. He got annoyed after a while, but Ling was persistent, and his concern prevailed.
What Ling came to understand was that Ed was tired and his joints hurt. Sometimes, it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning, and sometimes, it was difficult to get back into bed at night. From what Ling gathered, these were pretty typical signs of aging.
And Ed did age, seemingly right before Ling's eyes. His hair silvered, the lines on his face lengthened, and his once muscular frame lost much of its bulk. Ed was getting thinner and bonier. He wore his glasses all the time, bifocals now, and the walking stick became a permanent fixture. Even so, Ed kept up his lifestyle, and he was spending more time than ever on his research. It was, as he told Ling a number of times, something he needed to finish.
Ling didn't ask what his deadline was, because he was afraid he knew.
The years passed, and Ling grew adept at backrubs and lotion application. Matthew got married and had a special reception in Xing so that Ed could attend with minimal discomfort, and Al and Winry became grandparents, eventually five times over. Fuhrer Mustang finally retired his seat, and a half-Ishbalan man named Stephen Holting took over the Amestrian government.
The political climate was different in Xing as well. There were always misguided attempts at Ling's throne, but most of his siblings had grown too old to really bother. There were new would-be usurpers now, sometimes the children of his siblings, and sometimes others. No one succeeded, of course. No one even came close. Jian, however, nearly lost her life in the same way her mother had, and would probably never fight again. Her sister took her stead for her, joining the guard soon after this. Lihua brought her alchemy with her to the battle field and wielded it strongly and efficiently. Jian married but never had any children, and Lihua did not seem interested in marriage.
Ling's life was not unpleasant; Ed wasn't capable of certain bedroom activities that he had been in his youth, but he always tried for Ling's sake. Most of the time, it wasn't so bad, but Ling's libido was still fifteen years old, and Ling had been given explicit instructions to wait until Ed was dead before taking anyone else as a lover.
In the end, the company was good, the sex was all right when it happened, and the job wasn't as stressful as it had been once. Ling was enjoying his life.
That all ended, though, when Ed started getting sick.
It wasn't really a big deal at first; Ed got sick sometimes. It happened. But as his illnesses became more frequent, and as the herbal regimen the healer put him on to bolster his immune system did nothing to stop them, it became evident that something was wrong. Ed was old, but he wasn't that old.
He had other symptoms too-small things that were unremarkable by themselves. Night sweats. Headaches. Nosebleeds. Bruises he wasn't sure the origin of. Nothing major, just like getting sick was nothing major.
Ed was at the healer anyway, despite half-hearted objections, because Ling was concerned. He was supposed to have another twenty years with Ed, at least. He wasn't ready for this.
The healer traced a finger from the center of Ed's hairline down his forehead and stopped just between Ed's eyes. She touched his chest, dragging her finger down his sternum, down to his belly, and she stopped once more. "Your chi is not flowing properly," she explained with a frown. "It is blocked...but it is not certain where. This is what causes your illness."
Ed eye twitched just slightly; Ling knew he never understood vague terms like chi. Ed was too scientific. He couldn't sense chi, and so he didn't really know what to make of its existence. One couldn't explain it in words, and Ed liked words too much to bother with something so abstract.
But even Ling could feel it, though he was not trained in the healing arts. Something was definitely off about the way Ed's energy filled his being. He didn't know what it was, or what the physical correlation was. He didn't know what it meant.
He was afraid. He was afraid for Ed, and more so, for himself.
Two days later, the blood test came back positive for a condition familiar to the healers: Ed was anemic. This was a great relief for Ling, until the healer took him aside.
"Anemia is a deficiency, easily fixed," she said to him. "But there's always something that causes anemia. Very rarely does it occur on its own, with no provocation. And...it would not block his chi, as we have seen. There is something underlying. I am...afraid, Your Excellency, that his prognosis does not look very good. I have seen things similar to this..."
Ling felt very numb, as though he wasn't really inside of his body, as though he was a ghost, standing back and watching his body go through the motions. His head nodded and his throat swallowed and his tongue spoke. "What is that something underlying, Healer?"
"His blood is ill. He doesn't fight infections properly. He bleeds too easily. His blood does not carry nutrients or oxygen properly. It is...a cancer. In his blood." She swallowed slightly and looked up at him. Her eyes were sad. "My medicines can prolong his life, but they cannot save it."
"How long?" Ling's body asked without his permission.
"Five years at the very most. My lord...I am sorry." The healer bowed to him, low and humble. A lesser Emperor, one of his forefathers perhaps, might have struck her dead for the bad news, but Ling couldn't find enough emotion to even think it.
Instead, he forced himself to smile. He would smile for Ed, if he only had five more years to smile. He smiled at the healer, and he said, "Then we will make them five good years."
Ed's gaze was focused on Ling's face when he returned to the room, and it was steely and knowing, but Ling didn't allow his smile to falter. At least, not until Ed spoke. "How long?"
There was a moment of silence where Ling fought his urge to react to that. "How long what?"
"How long 'til it kills me?" Ed asked bluntly.
Ling felt his facade shatter. This was all too much, too soon. He felt like someone had taken a hold of both of his lungs and squeezed so that he couldn't fit a single breath inside of them. He felt like the earth could shake and the palace walls could fall down around him into a pile of rubble, and he would just stand in the center of it all, not knowing or caring.
The world ends with two words: "Five years."
~
Ed admitted in bed that night that he had known it was coming.
"Didn't notice it at first," he murmured, stroking flesh fingers through Ling's hair gently. "But eventually... well, I have all the same things my mom did before she died. She never went to the doctor, though. I mean, I didn't want to. It was like....I didn't want to know. I knew, but I didn't want to know."
Ling didn't say anything. He didn't know if he could. His mouth was dry, his tongue was lead. His eyes burned and his throat ached. He was angry. He was devastated. He was nothing, numb and open and unable to breathe. It was almost as though all of those emotions had welled up so deeply inside of him that they were simply too much to feel.
His left hand moved on its own accord, the hand with the dark ink cut against skin, and it rested over Ed's heart. He wanted this. He wanted.
"Take my stone." Ling's voice was rough.
"No."
"They could fix you. They could make you better."
"I don't want it."
Ling's hand clenches into a fist, still resting there over Ed's heart. He wished he knew alchemy. He wished he could somehow force this onto Ed, that Ed didn't have a choice in the matter. But he knew he wouldn't be able to do that, even if he had the ability. This was Ed's life to do with as he pleased-even if the decisions he made left them with so very little time together.
Neither of them fell asleep for a long time after that. Ling laid awake, his head pillowed on Ed's shoulder, his hand over Ed's heart. He listened to Ed's breathing, felt his pulse. He listened to Ed's chi, memorizing every feeling attached to it, all familiar things he already knew but comforting nonetheless. He waited until Ed was asleep before allowing himself to follow. He dreamed that he too had grown old with Ed, and things weren't quite so bad that way.
Over the next week or so, Ed adopted a sort of morose air. He threw himself into his work more than ever; suddenly, he had a time limit on it. He still wouldn't tell Ling what it was about, and Ling wasn't worried about its contents anyway. He wanted to do something, go somewhere, take Ed out of this damn palace he was trapped in. He wanted to make those five years worth living. He also wanted a second opinion, and the Amestrian doctor was on his way to Xing.
The damning part about it was that there was no way around it. Under no circumstances would Ed accept the stone, and while Ling could order one of his alchemists to do it for him, he wasn't sure he trusted any of them that far. He also wasn't quite certain what would happen to him if he did that, and if there was one thing he could not do, it was leave his nation without a leader.
But his Greed was torn in a way it never had been before. On the one hand, he had Ed, his lover, his beloved, his everything, wasting away and dying in front of Ling while he could do nothing but watch. On the other hand, he had his immortal life with which to govern his dearly loved country, and with it, the ability to give his lover a cure that he wouldn't accept.
Ling did not know what he wanted more.
He did, really, but Ed had already made the decision for him. He could argue the point for hours-and he had, actually-but Ed refused to listen to reason. And Ling was forced to be an Emperor first and a lover second.
The Amestrian doctor took a look at Ed's test results and made a clucking noise with his tongue, shaking his head. The case was too advanced and the treatment too strenuous for an old man, he said. He did not agree with the healer's prognosis-he thought it was being too kind. He offered three years, no more. Ed took this in stride, and he studied.
The thing Ed did not do was call his brother.
Ling passed the weeks with a growing knot of despair in his belly. He arranged for a vacation-he would get Ed out of this palace, no matter what it took. And it took a lot-a lot of convincing and a lot of pain medication-but Ling eventually drove Ed out to the sea for another visit. He did not want to think of it as Ed's last.
But with the illness taking its toll on Ed's body, with the glasses on his nose and the silver in his hair, with the back hunched from arthritis and the weight of his automail, with shambling steps and reliance on his walking stick, Ed looked very, very old. There would not be another trip here, and they both knew it.
It hadn't been a good idea, and Ling realized it quickly. Ed could barely stand from the pain in his back and his hip, and there was no good place to rest. But Ed's gaze softened when he saw the powerful waves sweeping over the rock, and the sun caught his hair and turned it gold again. There was a smile on his face, and Ling didn't regret it.
Besides, Ed wasn't completely helpless, even at sixty-two years old, crippled by his own body working against him. He clapped his hands together, flesh and metal, and he touched the tip of his walking stick. The ground rose up behind him, molding itself into an elaborately decorated stone bench, just big enough for two.
There they sat, Ling with his arms around Ed, and Ed with his head against Ling's neck. They were still for a long time, and the wind was their only real company. There were guards, of course; there were always guards, but they stood back, with the car, giving them the illusion of alone time. The evening was theirs and theirs alone.
"I don't want you to drag me back to Rizenbul to bury me," Ed broke the silence. "No matter what Al says. All right? I want to be buried here."
It wasn't a conversation that Ling wanted to be having, but he had to admit that he realized the necessity of it. "In Xing? Of course. I can't put you in the royal tomb, of course, since we're not technically married, and the old fashioned types get all up in arms about that sort of thing...," Ling murmured thoughtfully. The idea of where to bury Ed had never occurred to him.
"I don't want to be buried in the royal tomb anyway. I'm not royalty. I'm not part of your guard, and I'm not a member of your family. I don't belong anywhere in the city, Ling," Ed replied quietly. "I mean here. Here. Bury me by the ocean. I...like it here."
"Here? In the cliffs?" Ling asked. That would take a long time to carve out a sepulcher all the way out here, and the work would be tedious and dangerous, so close to the water. One wrong move and the entire cliff face could come crumbling down.
Ed nodded, his face tilted against Ling's chest. "Here. If I wasn't so damn sore, I'd transmute it myself, since we're out here anyway," he said. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter where I'm buried. It's not like I'm going to care."
"Ed..."
"I mean, the whole burial thing, that's for you, right? If you want me closer, that's okay too. I don't know. I'm just a blabbering old man. I just...this is our place. I want to always feel like that, or something. It doesn't really matter, I mean, I know you like to visit Ran Fan and Fuu sometimes still, so maybe you'd do that with me too..."
"Ed, please."
"And the whole funeral thing too...they say funerals are for the living, not for the dead, so I figure you should all have some sort of a party or something. Stand around and sip your goddamn cocktails and talk about what a great guy I was."
"Ed. Stop." Ling's face was wet, and he didn't remember the tears starting. "You can...you can be buried where you would like. I'm the Emperor. I will make it happen."
"...okay." Ed's voice had gotten quiet. He was probably tired. It was difficult for him to run at full speed for a whole day by now, and they had done a lot of traveling. Ling knew they should head back soon, but he didn't want to. The bench behind him was cold, but Ed was a comforting warmth against his chest and side.
There was another silence, a quiet that wasn't quiet at all, with the fury of the waves and the rock and the wind. He held Ed, held him tightly, as though he was afraid the cold arms of nighttime were about to sweep him up and take him away, and really, when he thought about it too long, that was exactly what he was afraid of.
~
"Hello?"
"Al?"
"...yes? Who is this?"
"It's me. It's Ling."
"Ah! I didn't recognize your voice. This is a surprise. I'm used to Brother calling."
"I'm calling on his behalf, actually."
"...oh? Why couldn't he make the call?"
"...Al, you and Winry should visit."
"..."
"..."
"What's going on, Ling?"
"He's-sick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Al, he wouldn't call you. He doesn't even know I'm calling you. But it's not even an option anymore."
"Sick. How sick is he?"
"...you need to come out here. Soon."
"..."
"He has what your mother had."
"I...oh, god. Oh, god. We'll be out as soon as we can."
"I'm sorry, Al. I-I'm so sorry."
~
Ed worked on his research until the day he finally couldn't get himself up out of bed any longer. And even then, sometimes when the fevers would get too high, he would be mumbling the scientific components of, well, something under his breath. Even in his broken body, that brilliant mind never stopped going, inventing, creating.
The Amestrian doctor's guess of three years had come and gone, and Al and Winry had moved into the palace. But it became more obvious with each passing day that five years had been too long an estimate. Ed's health was deteriorating rapidly. The sepulcher had been designed and transmuted, a garish looking mausoleum of stone, adorned with spikes and harsh swirls and guarded by gargoyles. It was gaudy and ugly and suited Ed in every way possible.
Ling's days were a haze of meetings and decisions and standing on pins and needles as he watched for a messenger to come and tell him the news. His nights were spent in Ed's hospital bed, his arms around Ed's emaciated waist and nose buried in his hair. He was afraid to leave Ed alone for fear that he would never speak to his lover again.
Ed celebrated his sixty-sixth birthday attached to a number of monitors and an IV line that fed him when his stomach couldn't handle solid foods. Winry had baked an apple pie, but Ed couldn't eat more than a few bites. Still, he enjoyed the party they threw in his hospital room, although he was exhausted by the end of it and slept so hard that night that Ling thought, more than once, that Ed had left him once and for all.
Three weeks after his birthday, Ed asked Ling to stay with him in the morning, and Ling immediately canceled every one of his plans for the entire day. Ed didn't have a real reason, just that he didn't want Ling to be far away, and Ling did not have an argument with that. Day passed into evening, and evening into nighttime, and Ed lay in Ling's arms.
"Do you think I'll make it to sixty-seven?" Ed asked.
No. Ling did not think so. "I hope," he said instead.
"Me neither." A pause, and then Ed turned slightly-painfully-in Ling's arms. "Ling?"
"Mmm?"
Gold eyes were focused on Ling's face, demanding every part of his attention. Ed's face was serious, but there was a touch of something there, something Ling didn't recognize. Something he didn't ever recall seeing on Ed's face before.
"Ling, I'm scared."
It was almost too much. Ling wanted nothing more than to comfort his lover, to hold him and kiss away his fears and promise him that it would be okay. But it wasn't going to be okay. It was never going to be okay ever again. And as much as he wanted to say something that would make a difference here, to make Ed fear what lay ahead less, there wasn't anything he could say.
So instead, he just leaned in and buried his nose in Ed's hair and closed his eyes. "I know. I am too," he whispered.
"...there's some stuff for you in my desk, so don't you dare just go dump it in a box and ship it off to Al," Ed murmured. "Important stuff."
Ling fully intended to never touch anything belonging to Ed ever again. "Okay."
"You should probably start dating again at some point," Ed went on. "Not tomorrow or anything, but you know. You're going to be awfully lonely if you don't."
Ling would never look at another man or a woman with half the feeling of how he looked at Ed. "Okay."
"An' you got to take care of Al. He's going to be...well, you know. Worse than he already is."
Al would get by. Al would survive, because he had Winry. He wasn't losing his lover. He wasn't losing his one and only. He wasn't going to be alone for all of eternity. Al would be just fine.
"Okay."
"Okay," Ed repeated. "I'm tired. I'll think of the rest I was going to tell you in the morning."
Ling kissed Ed's ear. "Okay."
"You'll stay here? In the morning?"
"Of course. You do the same, all right?"
"I'll do my best."
~
Even at this point in his life, the dream still held the same integral points in it. As soon as Ling's knees hit the pillow in the desk of his old classroom, he knew what it would be today. The classroom with the ivory walls, the Master behind his wrinkled, yellowed scroll, Ran Fan sitting in the seat next to him. And as the Master spoke in his slow, deep tones, he wove together the story of the Emperor who could not die in a tapestry of sound and images.
Ling's throat ached as he listened to the story. His eyes burned. Part of him could still feel Ed's warmth enveloped in his arms, the stiff hospital bed under his shoulder. He understood, finally, that the story was his story, that everyone he loved was being systematically removed from his life, and that he could not stand allowing new people into his heart for fear that they would simply destroy him the way that Ed's illness was destroying him.
"...the immortal Emperor, though, had let his Greed get the better of him," the old Master said, reading from his ancient scrolls. "Everything he did was for his own reasons. Everything he felt was for his own benefit. When he was very old, he finally understood that he did not have everything. In fact, he had lost more than anyone else ever had; he had lost his love and his strength. There was only one thing the Emperor wanted now. Does anyone remember what it is? Young Yao?"
Ling stood up next to his desk. "Ed. He wanted-I want Ed back. I want Ed back!" His voice had started out quiet and grown in pitch until he was shouting at the frail old man. "That's all I ever wanted! That's all I ever really wanted! That's all I need! Please! I just need him back!!"
When the old Master looked up, he was suddenly no longer the man who had taught Ling so many years ago, no. He had transformed into another man, one that Ling knew too well. The face of King Bradley loomed before him, and he was paralyzed with the shock of it.
"No!" Bradley bellowed, his voice reverberating through the room. "That's incorrect!"
And just as quickly, his sword was in his hand, his arm was swinging wide, and Ran Fan was screaming again, just like she had all those years back, when-but this time was different, she was still screaming, and she wasn't stopping, screaming and screaming and-
Ling jerked out of sleep to the shrill sound of what wasn't screaming at all, but the sound of Ed's monitors. The sensors had slipped, must have, it'd happened before while they were sleeping, and Ling blinked blearily at the healer rushing into the room. He struggled to make sense of what was happening as she checked Ed's pulse and then the sensors and finally just unplugged the screeching machine. Somehow, through all that, Ed hadn't woken up.
Ed hadn't even moved.
Not even to take a breath.
In fact, every one of the sensors was in the right place, recording just as they were supposed to.
The healer was giving Ling a sympathetic look, afraid to say the words that he couldn't stand to hear, the truth he couldn't stand to admit. He stared down at Ed's pale face, peaceful and still. He felt Ed's skin, still warm to the touch. He couldn't even convince himself that Ed was just asleep, though. Not now. Not anymore. His chi had stopped. His soul was gone. His body was-
"Leave me," Ling said, his voice clipped, and the healer was gone from the room only a moment later.
He rested his forehead in the crook of Ed's neck, where his shoulder met up with his chest. He inhaled Ed's scent, sterile and wrong, and he didn't know what to do. Here he was, confronted with innumerable years ahead of him, with no purpose and no direction and no-no Ed.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to get up, to continue on.
What could he do? He held Ed's body in his arms-Ed's broken, aged body, wracked with disease and pain-and he wept.
~
Ed's body was interred a few days later in a private service attended only by those who had been closest to him. It was a short service; Winry said a few words, but Al couldn't, and Ling didn't want to. The pallbearers, dressed in the traditional white Xingese mourning robes, carried the coffin inside of the garish tomb and emerged a moment later, empty handed. The gates were closed, the doors were locked, and the key was given to Ling.
That didn't matter much. Part of Ling was inside of that tomb, and despite the fact that he had the key in his pocket, it was a part of him that was never coming back.
Al contributed to the sepulcher by walking up to the side of it and pressing his hands together. Blue light poured over the stone as Al etched in place Ed's final memorial. Ling did not go and read it. He didn't want to know what it said.
Ling stood at the edge of the cliff as the guests slowly filtered back toward the cars they had arrived in. He stood, and he felt the wind around him, billowing out his white mourning robes. He watched the water crash into the rocks, watched the storm clouds churn in the distance. He was alone, he thought. He was alone: finally, wholly, completely alone.
It was different from Fuu's death, different from Ran Fan's. It was different, because while they had been family, Ed had been a piece of who Ling was. It hurt. It was physically painful to allow Ed to be interred here, to leave him here, to be separated from him. They had been together for fifty years, for half a century, and Ling knew eventually, that wouldn't seem so long to him. But right now, that was eternity. It was enough.
There were hands on his shoulders, and he looked at Al. There were fresh tears on Al's cheeks, a heavy pain in his eyes. If anyone understood what Ling was feeling, it was Al. But he still held back; Al would just die in a few more years too. Ling never wanted to attend another funeral in his life.
"He told me to take care of you," Ling said, and his voice was flat, no inflection in it whatsoever.
"He told me the same thing," Al whispered. He turned Ling around, so that his back was to the ocean, his face toward the cars and the guests and, beyond them, the capital city and all of Xing. The sun was setting in the west, over his land.
He didn't want to go.
He didn't want to leave Ed here.
He didn't want to leave part of himself here.
"Ling...let's go," Al said quietly, and Ling couldn't help it. He turned around to find the cliffs and the ocean bathed in nighttime. His eyes found the bench Ed had made for them to sit on the last time they had been here together, and he realized he would never sit on it again, not with Ed in his arms the way it was designed.
Ling turned back toward Xing, toward life, toward eternity as the world's loneliest man. He never wanted to see the ocean again.
~
It became evident after a long while that the world continued on without Edward Elric.
The media had had a field day with it, of course; Ed had been one of the most beloved icons of Amestris' history, despite having moved to Xing forty-some years earlier. Pictures of him when he was fifteen crept up all over Amestrian tabloids, and the stories of the Fullmetal Alchemist suddenly became everyone's favorite topic of conversation.
Xing handled this much differently. Ed hadn't been as famous here, though most had heard of the tales of the Fullmetal Alchemist, savior of Amestris. He was more known for being the consort of the Emperor and for the rumors saying that he was the son of the great sage. Those in the palace crept around Ling, only interrupting his brooding misery for the most urgent of requests.
But eventually, it was expected that he should pick up the pieces and move on with his life.
Al and Winry moved back to Rizenbul; there was nothing keeping them there, and they had not seen their grandchildren in a long while.
Ed's name dropped out of the papers, except for the occasional mention.
The Aerugean ambassador really needed to speak to Ling about the trading lines between their countries and would talk to no one else.
Spring came. The flowers bloomed. Summer came. The sun shone. Autumn came. The flowers withered. Winter came. The snow fell.
The world didn't end just because Ed was no longer in it.
The world didn't end; only Ling did.
~
Ling wasn't aware of the passage of time. He was only aware of the feeling of vague disassociation from his day-to-day life. His body went through the motions of being the country's leader. He made decisions based on the words of his advisors. He ate, because he had to. He slept, but alone.
But eventually, the deep, throbbing pain that he was aware of with the intake of each breath-eventually, that faded. Eventually, he turned the picture of him and Ed taken years ago back around so that it no longer faced the wall. Eventually, he allowed himself to remember what his life had been with Ed. He came out of his grief-induced stupor like it had been a nightmare, and he discovered that years had gone by without him realizing it.
He began to realize some things. He realized that his advisors were running the country now, using his pain as a way to control him. He also realized that he didn't really care. No, that wasn't true, he did care, but not in the way that he should have.
He loved his home. He loved Xing, and he loved being its leader. There was no one else qualified for the position, no one else who could run this country like he could-at least, that was what he had been telling himself. He did love Xing, of course. But he began to wonder; he had been in power for more than fifty years, perhaps it was time for a fresh perspective on things.
It wasn't really an option, of course. Even in this liberal age, blood was still the single most important quality in a ruler, and Ling was unable to pass on his genes to the next generation.
But wouldn't it have been nice just to...sit back and let someone else do the work?
It was a stupid thought, really, and Ling dismissed it. He was still capable of leading his country, and he was still the most capable person in the country. Besides, if he stepped down from his position, what would he do? He still wasn't aging, after all. He was still immortal. He was comfortable where he was. He was just still grieving Ed, that was all.
Ed's study had been locked up shortly after his death, and Ling permitted no one to enter. But maybe now, five years after the fact, it wouldn't be so bad to go in there. Maybe the desk still held Ed's scent. Maybe he had left something there for Ling. Maybe Al would want some of those books. He found the key and then still had to wait a week to actually work up the nerve to open the door.
The room was exactly as Ed had left it, down to the book laid open on the desk and a piece of paper with three lines of Ed's scrawling handwriting on it. Everything in the room, however, had been covered in three centimeters of dust.
Ling was afraid to have it cleaned, though. The scent of books and paper and Ed's aftershave was still in the room, and he wouldn't have that leave. He brushed off the chair and sat down at an Amestrian style desk that was just a bit too low for his liking. He imagined Ed sitting exactly where he was, hunched over his desk and writing on that paper. The lamp on the desk blazed onto his research, glinting off the steel of his metal hand. In Ling's imagination, Ed looked like he did when he was thirty. Ling thought he probably liked too look at Ed the most around that age.
He reached out and picked up the paper Ed had been writing on, blowing off the dust as he did so. Ed's handwriting had always been terrible, but Ling had gotten pretty good at deciphering it. This paper had a few research notes on it that Ling didn't understand. He put the paper back down on the desk. He did the same with the book, sneezing after he blew the dust off. He couldn't even fathom what the book was about, even when he looked more closely at it
Beyond the desk, Ed had an old credenza filled with his research and even more books that didn't fit in his bookshelf. Ling wondered absently how many of these actually belonged to a library in Chiayi or somewhere else in Xing and had just never been returned. The credenza and all of the desk drawers, of course, had been alchemically sealed to prevent theft or whatever it was that alchemists worried about.
Ling sat there for a long moment, covered in dust and spiders. He closed his eyes and imagined that Ed would come back anytime to finish his research, that mysterious project that he hadn't gotten a chance to...
With a frown, Ling pushed back the chair and stood up quickly. Maybe a little too quickly; his knee jammed against the wood underneath the desk, and it jarred something loose. Ling frowned and inspected the damage. There was a long, thin, wooded panel on the front of the desk, and it seemed to have come loose, a bit...no, wait. That was...
He gripped the panel and tugged it gently. It rolled open without protest, revealing a hidden drawer.
The drawer was dust free, sealed pretty well until Ling's knee had loosened it. It was only a few centimeters deep, not enough to keep anything in it but a small stack of papers. In fact, the only thing Ed had kept in that hidden drawer of his was a single envelope. On the outside was scrawled:
Ling
In the event of my death
Ling's first impulse was to shove the envelope back into the drawer and pretend he had never found it. It was bringing back the memories, visceral and almost corporeal, of Ed dying in that hospital bed with that cancer ravaging away his insides, dying in Ling's arms.
But he also owed it to Ed to read whatever last words he had deemed worthy enough for a letter. With trembling hands, Ling lifted the envelope up and pulled the seal open. There were a number of folded loose leaf papers within, many with things crossed out. He couldn't quite make out the words because his eyes were blurred with a sudden onslaught of tears. He rubbed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He started to read.
Ling,
This is going to be the most difficult thing I've ever written, so bear with me if I get a little long winded and stupid.
It's getting apparent that I'm not going to be able to finish my research before I die, and I'm sorry for that. Everything I worked for, it was going to be for you. It was going to be a promise for us-that's what I thought at first, anyway. It became clear to me that I was never going to be able to fix everything in the span of my own lifetime, so I decided to write everything down so at least you might have the chance. But there were a lot of variables and things I didn't consider until too late.
Anyway, a lot of it is done. All of the most important things. I got enough of it done that you should be able to accomplish what I set out to do.
After this, there were a number of things scrawled out, entire paragraphs inked over enough that Ling couldn't make out anything that it said. He moved down the page.
Ignore that bit, I don't know what I'm talking about anymore, and I'm too fucking lazy to copy that whole first part over on a clean sheet of paper.
Anyway, there are a lot of things I'm probably going to say to you, and there are a lot of things I'm not going to get to that I wish I could. I'm never going to be able to write them all down, because the damn things pop into my head in the middle of the night or when I'm sitting on the john or something, times when I can't write them down, and then I try and think of them later and they're just gone.
So I'm just going to write down the important stuff. Stuff you probably already know, stuff I probably already said, but it's important anyway. Things like, I love you. You know, the sappy shit.
Thanks for everything. Is that stupid? Thanks for being you. Thanks for loving me. Thanks for bringing me to Rizenbul for my niece's wedding. Thanks for letting me see the ocean. Thanks for your big, stupid bed. Thanks for calling my brother for me when I got sick. Thanks for wanting me. Just, thanks. I had a good life, and I wouldn't change a damn thing about it. Except maybe the whole getting sick part. This kind of sucks.
It feels really damn weird knowing you'll be reading this after I'm dead. Part of me doesn't even want to write it because it's too much like giving up and
This thought ended with another chunk of illegible scribbling, and Ling had to stop anyway, because it was getting too hard. Ed's unique turn of phrase was evident all over the letter, and it was bringing back that grief that had seemed to end him directly after Ed's death.
The scratched out section ended in the middle of another sentence.
know how that is. This is getting stupid again. I guess I'm not very good at this.
I could go on for pages and pages about the things I want to say to you, as is pretty evident by the fact that I'm on the third page already. But see, the thing is, I know you already know this shit. I'm not going to discredit you like that, assuming that you don't know how madly I'm in love with you and how fucking grateful I am that you never left me, even when I turned into this ugly husk of a person.
I think it will be a relief to die, in some ways, but I really don't want to. Getting old really sucks, though. I hope that, if you ever manage to get old, you don't lose any of your hair.
I'm not even making sense anymore. Listen, my research. Like I told you, it's all for you. On the next page, I drew the circle that will unlock my cabinet and my desk drawers. Get Al or Lihua or someone you trust to do it for you, all right? But I need you to do something for me. You can't open that research until you've figured out for yourself what it is that you want. I don't mean like what you want for dinner or whatever, I mean for your life. Imagine for a minute that you have a choice. Imagine that anything is possible. After you figure it out, then you can open up my research.
I know I can't stop you or anything, so I'm just going to have to trust you, as bad of an idea as that is.
I think that's all the important stuff. Well, no, it probably isn't, but
Fuck this. I love you. Please don't go crazy when I die. I just want you to be happy.
Ed
On the following page was a circle, intricately drawn with every symbol placed with the precision that could have only come from Edward Elric, the genius alchemist. His hand hadn't wavered when he had drawn this circle the way it had wavered from time to time in the letter on the previous pages. As always, Ed's circle was perfect.
Ling leaned back in Ed's chair in front of Ed's desk in Ed's study, and he looked up at the ceiling. Ed didn't want him to go crazy. Ed wanted him to be happy.
Happy!
A hundred years could pass-a thousand!-and Ling would never be happy again. Without Ed, he was nothing. Without Ed, he was less than nothing, he was just-he was only the selfish, greedy prince Ed had met fifty something years ago.
Ed wanted him to be happy. It was a stupid thing to wish for, but Ed had probably known that. He had written it down anyway. Ling closed his eyes and pulled into himself and pretended that he wasn't there, or maybe that Ed was there. His chest hurt, and he realized he was crying again. He didn't care.
How could Ed ask him to be happy? How could Ed ask him what he wanted? He wanted Ed back. He wanted the past back. He wanted-he wanted to start all over and do things over again. He wouldn't muck it all up if he had another chance. He wouldn't chase Ed out of the palace, he wouldn't waste time arguing over stupid things, he wouldn't-he wouldn't what?
Ed would grow old and die, no matter what he did.
Even if he could try again, he knew he would never be able to keep Ed forever. Even if Ed had taken half of his stone, they probably wouldn't have been able to stand looking at each other after three hundred years or so. Together forever-it was a myth.
Even if he had another chance, what could he change? Should he have never fallen in love with Ed in the first place? He couldn't imagine what his life would have been like without Ed. He didn't want to think about that.
Finally, disgruntled, Ling folded the letter back up, carefully and deliberately, and put it back into the hidden desk drawer. He latched it again and he stood up, brushing off his clothes. He rubbed the tears from his face, set his shoulders, and exited the room that had been Ed's study. He locked the door behind him.
He could honor Ed's last wish. No one would see Ed's research until Ling had figured out this last riddle: what it was Ed thought he wanted.
~
Ling dreamed.
The room was now familiar, with its ivory walls and low desks and cushions for his knees. Ling sat, facing the old Master, settled on his velvet pillows, willowy old hands adjusting the scroll in front of him. Ling sat, and he waited for the story. Beside him was a figure swathed in black robes, face hidden, and Ling didn't look at him. This was new, but he didn't care.
"...and even though the immortal Emperor thought he had everything, it turned out that what he had truly wanted was something he could not have. And now, although young in body, the Emperor was very old, and everyone he had ever loved had died many years ago."
Ling was very still. He felt the age of his years in his bones, but his hands were smooth in his lap and his heart was strong in his chest. His spirit was old; his body was young. He had lived too much, seen too much, lost too much.
"There was only one thing that the Emperor wanted now. Does anyone remember what it is?" The Master looked up, and he turned to Ling. "Young Yao?"
He knew this. He should know this. He needed to know this. This was what Ed had wanted him to know, and he didn't want to disappoint Ed. He closed his eyes. He thought. He dreamed. If he could start over, he would change things. He would revoke his responsibilities. He would never become the Emperor, because now he knew that there were more important things in life. If becoming the Emperor meant he had to live forever-
And suddenly, he remembered that dream, the one where he and Ed had gotten old together. Maybe Ed would still die first, but then Ling only had five or ten years to look forward to, not an eternity.
He knew the answer.
He knew what he wanted.
Ling opened his eyes and he looked at the Master, patiently waiting for his response. "He wanted to die. The old Emperor wanted to die."
The Master nodded once at him. "Very good."
His companion stood up, then, the man in the dark robes, and he pulled back the hood. It was Ed inside of the robes, the Ed of his youth, maybe in his twenties or so. He was beautiful and golden perfect, and he was smiling. "Come on," Ed said, stretching out his hand to Ling. "Let's go."
Ling reached out his hand, and he woke up crying into his pillow.
~
Lihua opened all of the alchemical locks in Ed's office for Ling. What he found amazed the both of them; Ed's credenza was filled with decades of research, all handwritten and categorized by year. At the very top of the boxes of research was another envelope, bearing Ling's name, lying on top of an old leather-bound journal. Inside the envelope was another letter.
My father died sitting in front of my mother's grave, all alone, with a smile on his face.
I never remembered him being happy. After he met my mom and me and Al were born, he spent the rest of his life trying to figure out how to die with us because he couldn't bear the thought of continuing on after Mom was gone.
I know your situation is a little different, but I don't want you to abandon everyone who loves you and counts on you the same way he did, searching for a way to die when you're ready.
Included in these files is my research from the past forty-five years. It details anything I could think of that you might need in order to join me when you're ready. I've outlined a way for you block off your chi from detection (though you should really thank Lihua for that) so you can leave without being followed. There's also a bit about the construction of an automatically locking device that you can put the stone in to keep it from being used by anyone you don't want to use it. There's even a way to destroy it, if you want to do it that way.
The only thing I didn't get finished was a way for you to have your own heir. I know bloodlines are important there, but I don't know what's going to happen exactly after you take out the stone. Either way, your best bet is to find one of your sibling's kids beforehand, I think.
Anyway, so you don't have to take ten years to read through all this shit, everything you need to know is in this notebook. Burn everything after you're through with it.
Sitting in that chair again, Ling felt a bit gratified to know that he had read Ed correctly. No, that wasn't it-Ed had read him correctly. That idiot Ed, he had known all along that this was where Ling was going to end up. He had just ended up there sooner than either of them had expected.
He picked up the journal and opened it up to the first page. He stared at it for a moment and then turned the journal over and looked at it upside down to see if it made anymore sense that way. It didn't.
"Lihua," he said, his voice quiet and calm. "I am going to need your help with this."
He handed her the letter, and her eyes scanned the page, slowly translating the Amestrian in her mind. When she got to the bottom, she paused, and then handed the paper back. "Your highness. Is this what you want?"
Ling sighed. "I don't want to die, Lihua. But I'm so tired. I'm...so tired. I want...I want to be wherever he is. He always knew it'd end up like this. This is all-" He looked at the stacks of research, years and years of study dedicated to one single subject. "This is all for me."
Lihua bowed her head. "I shall respect your wishes, and my master's wishes," she told him.
"Thank you." Ling stood up, closing the journal again and handing it to her. "I will need time to...arrange things, and you will need time to understand these things." He closed the cabinet and had her lock them again, and then he locked the door to the study behind him. He had some planning to do.
~
It took time, and a lot of it, but time was no longer Ling's enemy.
Time had stolen from him everything that it would take: Fuu, Ran Fan, Ed. Time could no longer damage a timeless man.
He would give up his country before time could take it.
He would give up his life before time could figure out a way to force him to suffer longer.
It took time to meet many of his nieces and nephews belonging to the siblings that were not actively trying to remove him from the throne. It took time to get to know them, to understand their motives and passions, though it was helped by the fact that none of them realized his ultimate agenda. It took time to sift through all of them and choose one to succeed him to the throne.
He took his time doing it. He would make no mistakes.
He made trips out to the ocean to sit beside Ed's monument and to think. He made plans. He fired some people, hired new people, promoted other people. He arranged things to let them remain stable. He wrote some letters. He learned to disguise his chi and routinely disappeared from the palace without letting anyone know but the head of the Imperial guard.
He attended a funeral in Rizenbul and watched Al discover the pain of living without one's soul mate. A year later, he attended another funeral, and it was bittersweet, losing another friend and knowing that Al had accomplished so easily what Ed had devoted his entire life to.
He brought Ed's boxes and boxes of research out to the courtyard after Lihua had been through anything she might need, and he set it all on fire.
He searched his libraries until he found an appropriate epitaph.
He took his time, and time waited for him.
~
The sun rose slowly over the eastern sea, casting a splendor of orange and pink and red across the starry dark sky. The waves crashed against the cliffs, the wind whistled between the rocks. Here, it was quiet and loud; separated from the sound of people and living and life, there was only nature. The wind howling through the crags, the water crashing against the stone, and nothing.
Here, nestled innocuously between two rising crags, stood a lonely stone mausoleum. Here was where the great Fullmetal Alchemist had been laid to rest. Here was where the once immortal Emperor of Xing joined him in his eternal slumber.
Here was the place where the doors to that sepulcher had been opened, where Ling had taken his place sitting on the dusty floor next to the coffin, in the center of a circle incorporated into the very foundation of the tomb. Here was the place where Ling had nodded to Lihua gravely, where he had said in no uncertain terms, "I am ready."
Here was where Lihua had performed the transmutation to destroy the philosopher's stone that kept the Emperor from achieving his last wish. Here was where Ling closed his eyes for the very last time, where the doors were sealed with alchemy, where he imagined that Ed was reaching his hand out for him again, and this time he was able to take it.
Here was the words of Ling's epitaph transmuted into the stone, so that everyone would know why the immortal Emperor of Xing, the man who had everything anyone could ever ask for, had decided once and for all to leave the mortal plane:
And so, on this night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my guide,
In this sepulcher here by the sea,
In his tomb by the sounding sea.
Al and Winry's second child was a boy by the name of Matthew, with his father's hair and his mother's eyes. Ling had not seen him in person since he was a baby, but he had seen pictures. And now, he was the only person on the platform where Ed was supposed to be waiting for him.
Ling descended the steps of the train gracefully, feeling light and free in his travelling clothing. Traveling was a blessing in disguise, because no one expected him to be in full Emperor regalia when he was moving through tight passageways and small doorways. He sometimes secretly wondered if the Emperor's tailor was the real assassin in many cases in the past-an Emperor should be able to defend himself, but could not if he was rendered immobile by his own clothing.
"Um," Matthew said when Ling descended the stairs. He looked very unsure of himself and worried. Ling wondered if he knew how many people were watching him to make sure he didn't try anything on the Emperor of Xing. "You're Mr. Yao?"
Ling nodded encouragingly.
"Um, Uncle Ed wanted to talk to you before you leave. There are no other trains today, so can yours wait?" the young man asked.
Ling smiled and turned back to the train. "Make it happen," he said, and there was immediate movement from the servants within. A pair of guards appeared at his sides as he stepped further out onto the platform, and he sighed in annoyance. He knew they would always be there and always be useless...but oh well. Tradition was tradition, and over protectiveness rarely got people killed.
"All right," he said amicably to Matthew. "I am ready. Where is your uncle?"
"This way...um, sir."
They traveled down a long, winding road that Ling remembered vaguely from his last visit here years and years ago. It was a gravel road heading the opposite way of the town, and a cemetery was visible over one of the hills. Outside the cemetery gates was parked an old fashioned blue car that Ling recognized as the one Al had driven to the station two weeks ago.
Matthew escorted him to the gates and pointed to something out of Ling's line of vision. "Fifth row in, all the way to the right," he said.
"Ah, of course. This is slightly bigger than the last time I was here," Ling commented, stepping through the gates. He paused, then. "Thank you, Matthew. You two can stay here." The last bit was directed at his imperial guard. There were more of them, Ling could sense them, but they would take the hint as well, he was certain.
He found Ed standing in front of a pair of graves, wearing a dark brown coat and leaning against a walking stick. The stick was new; he had refused the idea just as soon as Ling could conjure it up back in Xing. That was interesting.
Ling had thought he was soundless, but Ed picked up on his presence anyway. "Al's reserved he and Winry a plot just over there," he said as Ling approached, pointing to an empty bit of grass a row over. "Asked me if I wanted something here."
"What did you tell him?" Ling placed a hand on Ed's flesh shoulder.
"I told him no, at first. I mean, it would seem silly to drag my body all the way over here just to be buried, you know?" Ed murmured. "But then I started thinking, you know, it might not be so bad. Might be nice. I could be buried by Mom and...and that bastard father of mine. By Uncle and Auntie Rockbell, and by Granny, and eventually, by Al and Winry. You know?"
This conversation was not something Ling wanted to be having, not now and not ever. He didn't want to think about the day that Ed wouldn't be there for him any longer and what he was going to do with that. He hadn't considered where he wanted Ed to be buried. But somehow, it wasn't here.
"Is that what you want?" Ling asked cautiously, unsure of where this conversation was headed.
"I don't know." Ed looked up at Ling, finally, and his eyes were filled with conflict-more conflict than there should be if he was just debating on where he wanted to be buried. Ling was suddenly very worried. "Ling, this is...the last time I'm ever going to get to be here. It's only going to get harder to travel. I'm never coming back here."
A horrifying understanding came over Ling. "Ed..."
"I-I...I don't want to leave!"
Ling closed his eyes and thought about all those times so many years ago when Ed would leave the palace for weeks at a time, about how he had felt when Ed had walked out the door. He thought about how he had felt when he found out that Ed could not longer travel easily, how he had longed for something to make Ed happy again.
Was this it? Did he really have to leave Ed here?
He found himself stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Ed, as tightly as he could manage. Ed dropped his stick and clung to Ling's torso, burying his face in Ling's shoulder, and for a moment, neither one of them spoke. What could he say? How could he beg Ed not to leave him, not to stay here, when getting on that train would just invoke twelve hours of unspeakable pain? How could he ask Ed to leave the town where he was born, where his brother and best friend lived, where his nieces and nephews stayed, where his parents were buried?
But he could, because it was what he wanted, and it was such a strong and encompassing desire that the very thought of going back to Xing without Ed was just absurd. He knew he couldn't take Ed against his will, and he wouldn't think of it, but that didn't mean he couldn't try and sway Ed's decision. Perhaps he was taking Ed away from Rizenbul and Amestris forever, but Ed had a home in Xing too.
"Please come home with me," Ling said, and that was all he could say. Please come home. Please leave this place. Please. Please.
"I'm just," Ed murmured, and then stopped for a moment. "I'm just not ready to say goodbye."
Ling's heart leapt in his chest. Did that mean Ed was coming with him? He pressed his lips to the top of Ed's head, still holding him probably a little too tightly. "My train can't idle in the station forever."
Ed sighed and shifted, finally pulling away from Ling. "Yeah, I know. All my stuff is in Al's car. He let me borrow it. Matthew is playing chauffer." He reached for the discarded walking stick, but Ling beat him to it.
"Did you already say goodbye?"
"Yeah." Ed hesitated and then took his stick back from Ling. "Before you can ask, Winry gave it to me. I guess a lot of people with automail have problems when they get older. She said this should help out a bit." He began a slow hobble toward the entrance of the cemetery, and Ling followed.
"Ed." Ling was surprised; he hadn't meant to say anything, but there was some guilt he hadn't worked through just yet. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, let what was happening continue, because he was getting Ed back. But he couldn't help it. Ed stopped and glanced at him, and Ling couldn't quite make eye contact. "You do want to go back, don't you?"
Ed took a deep breath. "Of course I do. All my research is there. And I couldn't abandon Jian and Lihua, and...there's you, and your goddamn wonderful bed," he said slowly. He looked up at Ling's face. "My life is there now. With you. There's no question of that. But that doesn't mean I won't miss this. That I won't miss here."
After a moment of silence, Ling stepped up behind him and put his arm around Ed's waist. These were the words he needed to hear. As much as he needed Ed, he needed Ed to need him almost just as much. As much as he needed Ed to come home with him, he needed Ed to want to come home too.
He looked down at Ed, and Ed glanced up at him. He sneaked a kiss and a nuzzle, and then they started walking. "Let's go home," he said, and Ed looked at the car and the road to his brother's house and the empty countryside, and then he nodded.
"Yeah. Let's go."
~
Starting with the moment that Ed told Ling about his joint pains, Ling found himself watching Ed. It annoyed him that he hadn't realized Ed was hurting for so long. It bothered him that Ed had hidden it, waiting for him to notice. It bothered him more that he had not asked, waiting for Ed to tell him. If something else went wrong (and really, he was beginning to understand that it was only a matter of time until it did), he wanted to know about it.
But it was frustrating. Ling couldn't tell what was arthritis, what was aging, and what was something else altogether, or even if there was something else at all. And so he would ask Ed how he was doing every night, admitting his guilt over not realizing Ed's trouble with arthritis. Ed told him each night, at first, finding Ling's inquiries amusing or something. He got annoyed after a while, but Ling was persistent, and his concern prevailed.
What Ling came to understand was that Ed was tired and his joints hurt. Sometimes, it was difficult to get out of bed in the morning, and sometimes, it was difficult to get back into bed at night. From what Ling gathered, these were pretty typical signs of aging.
And Ed did age, seemingly right before Ling's eyes. His hair silvered, the lines on his face lengthened, and his once muscular frame lost much of its bulk. Ed was getting thinner and bonier. He wore his glasses all the time, bifocals now, and the walking stick became a permanent fixture. Even so, Ed kept up his lifestyle, and he was spending more time than ever on his research. It was, as he told Ling a number of times, something he needed to finish.
Ling didn't ask what his deadline was, because he was afraid he knew.
The years passed, and Ling grew adept at backrubs and lotion application. Matthew got married and had a special reception in Xing so that Ed could attend with minimal discomfort, and Al and Winry became grandparents, eventually five times over. Fuhrer Mustang finally retired his seat, and a half-Ishbalan man named Stephen Holting took over the Amestrian government.
The political climate was different in Xing as well. There were always misguided attempts at Ling's throne, but most of his siblings had grown too old to really bother. There were new would-be usurpers now, sometimes the children of his siblings, and sometimes others. No one succeeded, of course. No one even came close. Jian, however, nearly lost her life in the same way her mother had, and would probably never fight again. Her sister took her stead for her, joining the guard soon after this. Lihua brought her alchemy with her to the battle field and wielded it strongly and efficiently. Jian married but never had any children, and Lihua did not seem interested in marriage.
Ling's life was not unpleasant; Ed wasn't capable of certain bedroom activities that he had been in his youth, but he always tried for Ling's sake. Most of the time, it wasn't so bad, but Ling's libido was still fifteen years old, and Ling had been given explicit instructions to wait until Ed was dead before taking anyone else as a lover.
In the end, the company was good, the sex was all right when it happened, and the job wasn't as stressful as it had been once. Ling was enjoying his life.
That all ended, though, when Ed started getting sick.
It wasn't really a big deal at first; Ed got sick sometimes. It happened. But as his illnesses became more frequent, and as the herbal regimen the healer put him on to bolster his immune system did nothing to stop them, it became evident that something was wrong. Ed was old, but he wasn't that old.
He had other symptoms too-small things that were unremarkable by themselves. Night sweats. Headaches. Nosebleeds. Bruises he wasn't sure the origin of. Nothing major, just like getting sick was nothing major.
Ed was at the healer anyway, despite half-hearted objections, because Ling was concerned. He was supposed to have another twenty years with Ed, at least. He wasn't ready for this.
The healer traced a finger from the center of Ed's hairline down his forehead and stopped just between Ed's eyes. She touched his chest, dragging her finger down his sternum, down to his belly, and she stopped once more. "Your chi is not flowing properly," she explained with a frown. "It is blocked...but it is not certain where. This is what causes your illness."
Ed eye twitched just slightly; Ling knew he never understood vague terms like chi. Ed was too scientific. He couldn't sense chi, and so he didn't really know what to make of its existence. One couldn't explain it in words, and Ed liked words too much to bother with something so abstract.
But even Ling could feel it, though he was not trained in the healing arts. Something was definitely off about the way Ed's energy filled his being. He didn't know what it was, or what the physical correlation was. He didn't know what it meant.
He was afraid. He was afraid for Ed, and more so, for himself.
Two days later, the blood test came back positive for a condition familiar to the healers: Ed was anemic. This was a great relief for Ling, until the healer took him aside.
"Anemia is a deficiency, easily fixed," she said to him. "But there's always something that causes anemia. Very rarely does it occur on its own, with no provocation. And...it would not block his chi, as we have seen. There is something underlying. I am...afraid, Your Excellency, that his prognosis does not look very good. I have seen things similar to this..."
Ling felt very numb, as though he wasn't really inside of his body, as though he was a ghost, standing back and watching his body go through the motions. His head nodded and his throat swallowed and his tongue spoke. "What is that something underlying, Healer?"
"His blood is ill. He doesn't fight infections properly. He bleeds too easily. His blood does not carry nutrients or oxygen properly. It is...a cancer. In his blood." She swallowed slightly and looked up at him. Her eyes were sad. "My medicines can prolong his life, but they cannot save it."
"How long?" Ling's body asked without his permission.
"Five years at the very most. My lord...I am sorry." The healer bowed to him, low and humble. A lesser Emperor, one of his forefathers perhaps, might have struck her dead for the bad news, but Ling couldn't find enough emotion to even think it.
Instead, he forced himself to smile. He would smile for Ed, if he only had five more years to smile. He smiled at the healer, and he said, "Then we will make them five good years."
Ed's gaze was focused on Ling's face when he returned to the room, and it was steely and knowing, but Ling didn't allow his smile to falter. At least, not until Ed spoke. "How long?"
There was a moment of silence where Ling fought his urge to react to that. "How long what?"
"How long 'til it kills me?" Ed asked bluntly.
Ling felt his facade shatter. This was all too much, too soon. He felt like someone had taken a hold of both of his lungs and squeezed so that he couldn't fit a single breath inside of them. He felt like the earth could shake and the palace walls could fall down around him into a pile of rubble, and he would just stand in the center of it all, not knowing or caring.
The world ends with two words: "Five years."
~
Ed admitted in bed that night that he had known it was coming.
"Didn't notice it at first," he murmured, stroking flesh fingers through Ling's hair gently. "But eventually... well, I have all the same things my mom did before she died. She never went to the doctor, though. I mean, I didn't want to. It was like....I didn't want to know. I knew, but I didn't want to know."
Ling didn't say anything. He didn't know if he could. His mouth was dry, his tongue was lead. His eyes burned and his throat ached. He was angry. He was devastated. He was nothing, numb and open and unable to breathe. It was almost as though all of those emotions had welled up so deeply inside of him that they were simply too much to feel.
His left hand moved on its own accord, the hand with the dark ink cut against skin, and it rested over Ed's heart. He wanted this. He wanted.
"Take my stone." Ling's voice was rough.
"No."
"They could fix you. They could make you better."
"I don't want it."
Ling's hand clenches into a fist, still resting there over Ed's heart. He wished he knew alchemy. He wished he could somehow force this onto Ed, that Ed didn't have a choice in the matter. But he knew he wouldn't be able to do that, even if he had the ability. This was Ed's life to do with as he pleased-even if the decisions he made left them with so very little time together.
Neither of them fell asleep for a long time after that. Ling laid awake, his head pillowed on Ed's shoulder, his hand over Ed's heart. He listened to Ed's breathing, felt his pulse. He listened to Ed's chi, memorizing every feeling attached to it, all familiar things he already knew but comforting nonetheless. He waited until Ed was asleep before allowing himself to follow. He dreamed that he too had grown old with Ed, and things weren't quite so bad that way.
Over the next week or so, Ed adopted a sort of morose air. He threw himself into his work more than ever; suddenly, he had a time limit on it. He still wouldn't tell Ling what it was about, and Ling wasn't worried about its contents anyway. He wanted to do something, go somewhere, take Ed out of this damn palace he was trapped in. He wanted to make those five years worth living. He also wanted a second opinion, and the Amestrian doctor was on his way to Xing.
The damning part about it was that there was no way around it. Under no circumstances would Ed accept the stone, and while Ling could order one of his alchemists to do it for him, he wasn't sure he trusted any of them that far. He also wasn't quite certain what would happen to him if he did that, and if there was one thing he could not do, it was leave his nation without a leader.
But his Greed was torn in a way it never had been before. On the one hand, he had Ed, his lover, his beloved, his everything, wasting away and dying in front of Ling while he could do nothing but watch. On the other hand, he had his immortal life with which to govern his dearly loved country, and with it, the ability to give his lover a cure that he wouldn't accept.
Ling did not know what he wanted more.
He did, really, but Ed had already made the decision for him. He could argue the point for hours-and he had, actually-but Ed refused to listen to reason. And Ling was forced to be an Emperor first and a lover second.
The Amestrian doctor took a look at Ed's test results and made a clucking noise with his tongue, shaking his head. The case was too advanced and the treatment too strenuous for an old man, he said. He did not agree with the healer's prognosis-he thought it was being too kind. He offered three years, no more. Ed took this in stride, and he studied.
The thing Ed did not do was call his brother.
Ling passed the weeks with a growing knot of despair in his belly. He arranged for a vacation-he would get Ed out of this palace, no matter what it took. And it took a lot-a lot of convincing and a lot of pain medication-but Ling eventually drove Ed out to the sea for another visit. He did not want to think of it as Ed's last.
But with the illness taking its toll on Ed's body, with the glasses on his nose and the silver in his hair, with the back hunched from arthritis and the weight of his automail, with shambling steps and reliance on his walking stick, Ed looked very, very old. There would not be another trip here, and they both knew it.
It hadn't been a good idea, and Ling realized it quickly. Ed could barely stand from the pain in his back and his hip, and there was no good place to rest. But Ed's gaze softened when he saw the powerful waves sweeping over the rock, and the sun caught his hair and turned it gold again. There was a smile on his face, and Ling didn't regret it.
Besides, Ed wasn't completely helpless, even at sixty-two years old, crippled by his own body working against him. He clapped his hands together, flesh and metal, and he touched the tip of his walking stick. The ground rose up behind him, molding itself into an elaborately decorated stone bench, just big enough for two.
There they sat, Ling with his arms around Ed, and Ed with his head against Ling's neck. They were still for a long time, and the wind was their only real company. There were guards, of course; there were always guards, but they stood back, with the car, giving them the illusion of alone time. The evening was theirs and theirs alone.
"I don't want you to drag me back to Rizenbul to bury me," Ed broke the silence. "No matter what Al says. All right? I want to be buried here."
It wasn't a conversation that Ling wanted to be having, but he had to admit that he realized the necessity of it. "In Xing? Of course. I can't put you in the royal tomb, of course, since we're not technically married, and the old fashioned types get all up in arms about that sort of thing...," Ling murmured thoughtfully. The idea of where to bury Ed had never occurred to him.
"I don't want to be buried in the royal tomb anyway. I'm not royalty. I'm not part of your guard, and I'm not a member of your family. I don't belong anywhere in the city, Ling," Ed replied quietly. "I mean here. Here. Bury me by the ocean. I...like it here."
"Here? In the cliffs?" Ling asked. That would take a long time to carve out a sepulcher all the way out here, and the work would be tedious and dangerous, so close to the water. One wrong move and the entire cliff face could come crumbling down.
Ed nodded, his face tilted against Ling's chest. "Here. If I wasn't so damn sore, I'd transmute it myself, since we're out here anyway," he said. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter where I'm buried. It's not like I'm going to care."
"Ed..."
"I mean, the whole burial thing, that's for you, right? If you want me closer, that's okay too. I don't know. I'm just a blabbering old man. I just...this is our place. I want to always feel like that, or something. It doesn't really matter, I mean, I know you like to visit Ran Fan and Fuu sometimes still, so maybe you'd do that with me too..."
"Ed, please."
"And the whole funeral thing too...they say funerals are for the living, not for the dead, so I figure you should all have some sort of a party or something. Stand around and sip your goddamn cocktails and talk about what a great guy I was."
"Ed. Stop." Ling's face was wet, and he didn't remember the tears starting. "You can...you can be buried where you would like. I'm the Emperor. I will make it happen."
"...okay." Ed's voice had gotten quiet. He was probably tired. It was difficult for him to run at full speed for a whole day by now, and they had done a lot of traveling. Ling knew they should head back soon, but he didn't want to. The bench behind him was cold, but Ed was a comforting warmth against his chest and side.
There was another silence, a quiet that wasn't quiet at all, with the fury of the waves and the rock and the wind. He held Ed, held him tightly, as though he was afraid the cold arms of nighttime were about to sweep him up and take him away, and really, when he thought about it too long, that was exactly what he was afraid of.
~
"Hello?"
"Al?"
"...yes? Who is this?"
"It's me. It's Ling."
"Ah! I didn't recognize your voice. This is a surprise. I'm used to Brother calling."
"I'm calling on his behalf, actually."
"...oh? Why couldn't he make the call?"
"...Al, you and Winry should visit."
"..."
"..."
"What's going on, Ling?"
"He's-sick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Al, he wouldn't call you. He doesn't even know I'm calling you. But it's not even an option anymore."
"Sick. How sick is he?"
"...you need to come out here. Soon."
"..."
"He has what your mother had."
"I...oh, god. Oh, god. We'll be out as soon as we can."
"I'm sorry, Al. I-I'm so sorry."
~
Ed worked on his research until the day he finally couldn't get himself up out of bed any longer. And even then, sometimes when the fevers would get too high, he would be mumbling the scientific components of, well, something under his breath. Even in his broken body, that brilliant mind never stopped going, inventing, creating.
The Amestrian doctor's guess of three years had come and gone, and Al and Winry had moved into the palace. But it became more obvious with each passing day that five years had been too long an estimate. Ed's health was deteriorating rapidly. The sepulcher had been designed and transmuted, a garish looking mausoleum of stone, adorned with spikes and harsh swirls and guarded by gargoyles. It was gaudy and ugly and suited Ed in every way possible.
Ling's days were a haze of meetings and decisions and standing on pins and needles as he watched for a messenger to come and tell him the news. His nights were spent in Ed's hospital bed, his arms around Ed's emaciated waist and nose buried in his hair. He was afraid to leave Ed alone for fear that he would never speak to his lover again.
Ed celebrated his sixty-sixth birthday attached to a number of monitors and an IV line that fed him when his stomach couldn't handle solid foods. Winry had baked an apple pie, but Ed couldn't eat more than a few bites. Still, he enjoyed the party they threw in his hospital room, although he was exhausted by the end of it and slept so hard that night that Ling thought, more than once, that Ed had left him once and for all.
Three weeks after his birthday, Ed asked Ling to stay with him in the morning, and Ling immediately canceled every one of his plans for the entire day. Ed didn't have a real reason, just that he didn't want Ling to be far away, and Ling did not have an argument with that. Day passed into evening, and evening into nighttime, and Ed lay in Ling's arms.
"Do you think I'll make it to sixty-seven?" Ed asked.
No. Ling did not think so. "I hope," he said instead.
"Me neither." A pause, and then Ed turned slightly-painfully-in Ling's arms. "Ling?"
"Mmm?"
Gold eyes were focused on Ling's face, demanding every part of his attention. Ed's face was serious, but there was a touch of something there, something Ling didn't recognize. Something he didn't ever recall seeing on Ed's face before.
"Ling, I'm scared."
It was almost too much. Ling wanted nothing more than to comfort his lover, to hold him and kiss away his fears and promise him that it would be okay. But it wasn't going to be okay. It was never going to be okay ever again. And as much as he wanted to say something that would make a difference here, to make Ed fear what lay ahead less, there wasn't anything he could say.
So instead, he just leaned in and buried his nose in Ed's hair and closed his eyes. "I know. I am too," he whispered.
"...there's some stuff for you in my desk, so don't you dare just go dump it in a box and ship it off to Al," Ed murmured. "Important stuff."
Ling fully intended to never touch anything belonging to Ed ever again. "Okay."
"You should probably start dating again at some point," Ed went on. "Not tomorrow or anything, but you know. You're going to be awfully lonely if you don't."
Ling would never look at another man or a woman with half the feeling of how he looked at Ed. "Okay."
"An' you got to take care of Al. He's going to be...well, you know. Worse than he already is."
Al would get by. Al would survive, because he had Winry. He wasn't losing his lover. He wasn't losing his one and only. He wasn't going to be alone for all of eternity. Al would be just fine.
"Okay."
"Okay," Ed repeated. "I'm tired. I'll think of the rest I was going to tell you in the morning."
Ling kissed Ed's ear. "Okay."
"You'll stay here? In the morning?"
"Of course. You do the same, all right?"
"I'll do my best."
~
Even at this point in his life, the dream still held the same integral points in it. As soon as Ling's knees hit the pillow in the desk of his old classroom, he knew what it would be today. The classroom with the ivory walls, the Master behind his wrinkled, yellowed scroll, Ran Fan sitting in the seat next to him. And as the Master spoke in his slow, deep tones, he wove together the story of the Emperor who could not die in a tapestry of sound and images.
Ling's throat ached as he listened to the story. His eyes burned. Part of him could still feel Ed's warmth enveloped in his arms, the stiff hospital bed under his shoulder. He understood, finally, that the story was his story, that everyone he loved was being systematically removed from his life, and that he could not stand allowing new people into his heart for fear that they would simply destroy him the way that Ed's illness was destroying him.
"...the immortal Emperor, though, had let his Greed get the better of him," the old Master said, reading from his ancient scrolls. "Everything he did was for his own reasons. Everything he felt was for his own benefit. When he was very old, he finally understood that he did not have everything. In fact, he had lost more than anyone else ever had; he had lost his love and his strength. There was only one thing the Emperor wanted now. Does anyone remember what it is? Young Yao?"
Ling stood up next to his desk. "Ed. He wanted-I want Ed back. I want Ed back!" His voice had started out quiet and grown in pitch until he was shouting at the frail old man. "That's all I ever wanted! That's all I ever really wanted! That's all I need! Please! I just need him back!!"
When the old Master looked up, he was suddenly no longer the man who had taught Ling so many years ago, no. He had transformed into another man, one that Ling knew too well. The face of King Bradley loomed before him, and he was paralyzed with the shock of it.
"No!" Bradley bellowed, his voice reverberating through the room. "That's incorrect!"
And just as quickly, his sword was in his hand, his arm was swinging wide, and Ran Fan was screaming again, just like she had all those years back, when-but this time was different, she was still screaming, and she wasn't stopping, screaming and screaming and-
Ling jerked out of sleep to the shrill sound of what wasn't screaming at all, but the sound of Ed's monitors. The sensors had slipped, must have, it'd happened before while they were sleeping, and Ling blinked blearily at the healer rushing into the room. He struggled to make sense of what was happening as she checked Ed's pulse and then the sensors and finally just unplugged the screeching machine. Somehow, through all that, Ed hadn't woken up.
Ed hadn't even moved.
Not even to take a breath.
In fact, every one of the sensors was in the right place, recording just as they were supposed to.
The healer was giving Ling a sympathetic look, afraid to say the words that he couldn't stand to hear, the truth he couldn't stand to admit. He stared down at Ed's pale face, peaceful and still. He felt Ed's skin, still warm to the touch. He couldn't even convince himself that Ed was just asleep, though. Not now. Not anymore. His chi had stopped. His soul was gone. His body was-
"Leave me," Ling said, his voice clipped, and the healer was gone from the room only a moment later.
He rested his forehead in the crook of Ed's neck, where his shoulder met up with his chest. He inhaled Ed's scent, sterile and wrong, and he didn't know what to do. Here he was, confronted with innumerable years ahead of him, with no purpose and no direction and no-no Ed.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to get up, to continue on.
What could he do? He held Ed's body in his arms-Ed's broken, aged body, wracked with disease and pain-and he wept.
~
Ed's body was interred a few days later in a private service attended only by those who had been closest to him. It was a short service; Winry said a few words, but Al couldn't, and Ling didn't want to. The pallbearers, dressed in the traditional white Xingese mourning robes, carried the coffin inside of the garish tomb and emerged a moment later, empty handed. The gates were closed, the doors were locked, and the key was given to Ling.
That didn't matter much. Part of Ling was inside of that tomb, and despite the fact that he had the key in his pocket, it was a part of him that was never coming back.
Al contributed to the sepulcher by walking up to the side of it and pressing his hands together. Blue light poured over the stone as Al etched in place Ed's final memorial. Ling did not go and read it. He didn't want to know what it said.
Ling stood at the edge of the cliff as the guests slowly filtered back toward the cars they had arrived in. He stood, and he felt the wind around him, billowing out his white mourning robes. He watched the water crash into the rocks, watched the storm clouds churn in the distance. He was alone, he thought. He was alone: finally, wholly, completely alone.
It was different from Fuu's death, different from Ran Fan's. It was different, because while they had been family, Ed had been a piece of who Ling was. It hurt. It was physically painful to allow Ed to be interred here, to leave him here, to be separated from him. They had been together for fifty years, for half a century, and Ling knew eventually, that wouldn't seem so long to him. But right now, that was eternity. It was enough.
There were hands on his shoulders, and he looked at Al. There were fresh tears on Al's cheeks, a heavy pain in his eyes. If anyone understood what Ling was feeling, it was Al. But he still held back; Al would just die in a few more years too. Ling never wanted to attend another funeral in his life.
"He told me to take care of you," Ling said, and his voice was flat, no inflection in it whatsoever.
"He told me the same thing," Al whispered. He turned Ling around, so that his back was to the ocean, his face toward the cars and the guests and, beyond them, the capital city and all of Xing. The sun was setting in the west, over his land.
He didn't want to go.
He didn't want to leave Ed here.
He didn't want to leave part of himself here.
"Ling...let's go," Al said quietly, and Ling couldn't help it. He turned around to find the cliffs and the ocean bathed in nighttime. His eyes found the bench Ed had made for them to sit on the last time they had been here together, and he realized he would never sit on it again, not with Ed in his arms the way it was designed.
Ling turned back toward Xing, toward life, toward eternity as the world's loneliest man. He never wanted to see the ocean again.
~
It became evident after a long while that the world continued on without Edward Elric.
The media had had a field day with it, of course; Ed had been one of the most beloved icons of Amestris' history, despite having moved to Xing forty-some years earlier. Pictures of him when he was fifteen crept up all over Amestrian tabloids, and the stories of the Fullmetal Alchemist suddenly became everyone's favorite topic of conversation.
Xing handled this much differently. Ed hadn't been as famous here, though most had heard of the tales of the Fullmetal Alchemist, savior of Amestris. He was more known for being the consort of the Emperor and for the rumors saying that he was the son of the great sage. Those in the palace crept around Ling, only interrupting his brooding misery for the most urgent of requests.
But eventually, it was expected that he should pick up the pieces and move on with his life.
Al and Winry moved back to Rizenbul; there was nothing keeping them there, and they had not seen their grandchildren in a long while.
Ed's name dropped out of the papers, except for the occasional mention.
The Aerugean ambassador really needed to speak to Ling about the trading lines between their countries and would talk to no one else.
Spring came. The flowers bloomed. Summer came. The sun shone. Autumn came. The flowers withered. Winter came. The snow fell.
The world didn't end just because Ed was no longer in it.
The world didn't end; only Ling did.
~
Ling wasn't aware of the passage of time. He was only aware of the feeling of vague disassociation from his day-to-day life. His body went through the motions of being the country's leader. He made decisions based on the words of his advisors. He ate, because he had to. He slept, but alone.
But eventually, the deep, throbbing pain that he was aware of with the intake of each breath-eventually, that faded. Eventually, he turned the picture of him and Ed taken years ago back around so that it no longer faced the wall. Eventually, he allowed himself to remember what his life had been with Ed. He came out of his grief-induced stupor like it had been a nightmare, and he discovered that years had gone by without him realizing it.
He began to realize some things. He realized that his advisors were running the country now, using his pain as a way to control him. He also realized that he didn't really care. No, that wasn't true, he did care, but not in the way that he should have.
He loved his home. He loved Xing, and he loved being its leader. There was no one else qualified for the position, no one else who could run this country like he could-at least, that was what he had been telling himself. He did love Xing, of course. But he began to wonder; he had been in power for more than fifty years, perhaps it was time for a fresh perspective on things.
It wasn't really an option, of course. Even in this liberal age, blood was still the single most important quality in a ruler, and Ling was unable to pass on his genes to the next generation.
But wouldn't it have been nice just to...sit back and let someone else do the work?
It was a stupid thought, really, and Ling dismissed it. He was still capable of leading his country, and he was still the most capable person in the country. Besides, if he stepped down from his position, what would he do? He still wasn't aging, after all. He was still immortal. He was comfortable where he was. He was just still grieving Ed, that was all.
Ed's study had been locked up shortly after his death, and Ling permitted no one to enter. But maybe now, five years after the fact, it wouldn't be so bad to go in there. Maybe the desk still held Ed's scent. Maybe he had left something there for Ling. Maybe Al would want some of those books. He found the key and then still had to wait a week to actually work up the nerve to open the door.
The room was exactly as Ed had left it, down to the book laid open on the desk and a piece of paper with three lines of Ed's scrawling handwriting on it. Everything in the room, however, had been covered in three centimeters of dust.
Ling was afraid to have it cleaned, though. The scent of books and paper and Ed's aftershave was still in the room, and he wouldn't have that leave. He brushed off the chair and sat down at an Amestrian style desk that was just a bit too low for his liking. He imagined Ed sitting exactly where he was, hunched over his desk and writing on that paper. The lamp on the desk blazed onto his research, glinting off the steel of his metal hand. In Ling's imagination, Ed looked like he did when he was thirty. Ling thought he probably liked too look at Ed the most around that age.
He reached out and picked up the paper Ed had been writing on, blowing off the dust as he did so. Ed's handwriting had always been terrible, but Ling had gotten pretty good at deciphering it. This paper had a few research notes on it that Ling didn't understand. He put the paper back down on the desk. He did the same with the book, sneezing after he blew the dust off. He couldn't even fathom what the book was about, even when he looked more closely at it
Beyond the desk, Ed had an old credenza filled with his research and even more books that didn't fit in his bookshelf. Ling wondered absently how many of these actually belonged to a library in Chiayi or somewhere else in Xing and had just never been returned. The credenza and all of the desk drawers, of course, had been alchemically sealed to prevent theft or whatever it was that alchemists worried about.
Ling sat there for a long moment, covered in dust and spiders. He closed his eyes and imagined that Ed would come back anytime to finish his research, that mysterious project that he hadn't gotten a chance to...
With a frown, Ling pushed back the chair and stood up quickly. Maybe a little too quickly; his knee jammed against the wood underneath the desk, and it jarred something loose. Ling frowned and inspected the damage. There was a long, thin, wooded panel on the front of the desk, and it seemed to have come loose, a bit...no, wait. That was...
He gripped the panel and tugged it gently. It rolled open without protest, revealing a hidden drawer.
The drawer was dust free, sealed pretty well until Ling's knee had loosened it. It was only a few centimeters deep, not enough to keep anything in it but a small stack of papers. In fact, the only thing Ed had kept in that hidden drawer of his was a single envelope. On the outside was scrawled:
Ling
In the event of my death
Ling's first impulse was to shove the envelope back into the drawer and pretend he had never found it. It was bringing back the memories, visceral and almost corporeal, of Ed dying in that hospital bed with that cancer ravaging away his insides, dying in Ling's arms.
But he also owed it to Ed to read whatever last words he had deemed worthy enough for a letter. With trembling hands, Ling lifted the envelope up and pulled the seal open. There were a number of folded loose leaf papers within, many with things crossed out. He couldn't quite make out the words because his eyes were blurred with a sudden onslaught of tears. He rubbed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He started to read.
Ling,
This is going to be the most difficult thing I've ever written, so bear with me if I get a little long winded and stupid.
It's getting apparent that I'm not going to be able to finish my research before I die, and I'm sorry for that. Everything I worked for, it was going to be for you. It was going to be a promise for us-that's what I thought at first, anyway. It became clear to me that I was never going to be able to fix everything in the span of my own lifetime, so I decided to write everything down so at least you might have the chance. But there were a lot of variables and things I didn't consider until too late.
Anyway, a lot of it is done. All of the most important things. I got enough of it done that you should be able to accomplish what I set out to do.
After this, there were a number of things scrawled out, entire paragraphs inked over enough that Ling couldn't make out anything that it said. He moved down the page.
Ignore that bit, I don't know what I'm talking about anymore, and I'm too fucking lazy to copy that whole first part over on a clean sheet of paper.
Anyway, there are a lot of things I'm probably going to say to you, and there are a lot of things I'm not going to get to that I wish I could. I'm never going to be able to write them all down, because the damn things pop into my head in the middle of the night or when I'm sitting on the john or something, times when I can't write them down, and then I try and think of them later and they're just gone.
So I'm just going to write down the important stuff. Stuff you probably already know, stuff I probably already said, but it's important anyway. Things like, I love you. You know, the sappy shit.
Thanks for everything. Is that stupid? Thanks for being you. Thanks for loving me. Thanks for bringing me to Rizenbul for my niece's wedding. Thanks for letting me see the ocean. Thanks for your big, stupid bed. Thanks for calling my brother for me when I got sick. Thanks for wanting me. Just, thanks. I had a good life, and I wouldn't change a damn thing about it. Except maybe the whole getting sick part. This kind of sucks.
It feels really damn weird knowing you'll be reading this after I'm dead. Part of me doesn't even want to write it because it's too much like giving up and
This thought ended with another chunk of illegible scribbling, and Ling had to stop anyway, because it was getting too hard. Ed's unique turn of phrase was evident all over the letter, and it was bringing back that grief that had seemed to end him directly after Ed's death.
The scratched out section ended in the middle of another sentence.
know how that is. This is getting stupid again. I guess I'm not very good at this.
I could go on for pages and pages about the things I want to say to you, as is pretty evident by the fact that I'm on the third page already. But see, the thing is, I know you already know this shit. I'm not going to discredit you like that, assuming that you don't know how madly I'm in love with you and how fucking grateful I am that you never left me, even when I turned into this ugly husk of a person.
I think it will be a relief to die, in some ways, but I really don't want to. Getting old really sucks, though. I hope that, if you ever manage to get old, you don't lose any of your hair.
I'm not even making sense anymore. Listen, my research. Like I told you, it's all for you. On the next page, I drew the circle that will unlock my cabinet and my desk drawers. Get Al or Lihua or someone you trust to do it for you, all right? But I need you to do something for me. You can't open that research until you've figured out for yourself what it is that you want. I don't mean like what you want for dinner or whatever, I mean for your life. Imagine for a minute that you have a choice. Imagine that anything is possible. After you figure it out, then you can open up my research.
I know I can't stop you or anything, so I'm just going to have to trust you, as bad of an idea as that is.
I think that's all the important stuff. Well, no, it probably isn't, but
Fuck this. I love you. Please don't go crazy when I die. I just want you to be happy.
Ed
On the following page was a circle, intricately drawn with every symbol placed with the precision that could have only come from Edward Elric, the genius alchemist. His hand hadn't wavered when he had drawn this circle the way it had wavered from time to time in the letter on the previous pages. As always, Ed's circle was perfect.
Ling leaned back in Ed's chair in front of Ed's desk in Ed's study, and he looked up at the ceiling. Ed didn't want him to go crazy. Ed wanted him to be happy.
Happy!
A hundred years could pass-a thousand!-and Ling would never be happy again. Without Ed, he was nothing. Without Ed, he was less than nothing, he was just-he was only the selfish, greedy prince Ed had met fifty something years ago.
Ed wanted him to be happy. It was a stupid thing to wish for, but Ed had probably known that. He had written it down anyway. Ling closed his eyes and pulled into himself and pretended that he wasn't there, or maybe that Ed was there. His chest hurt, and he realized he was crying again. He didn't care.
How could Ed ask him to be happy? How could Ed ask him what he wanted? He wanted Ed back. He wanted the past back. He wanted-he wanted to start all over and do things over again. He wouldn't muck it all up if he had another chance. He wouldn't chase Ed out of the palace, he wouldn't waste time arguing over stupid things, he wouldn't-he wouldn't what?
Ed would grow old and die, no matter what he did.
Even if he could try again, he knew he would never be able to keep Ed forever. Even if Ed had taken half of his stone, they probably wouldn't have been able to stand looking at each other after three hundred years or so. Together forever-it was a myth.
Even if he had another chance, what could he change? Should he have never fallen in love with Ed in the first place? He couldn't imagine what his life would have been like without Ed. He didn't want to think about that.
Finally, disgruntled, Ling folded the letter back up, carefully and deliberately, and put it back into the hidden desk drawer. He latched it again and he stood up, brushing off his clothes. He rubbed the tears from his face, set his shoulders, and exited the room that had been Ed's study. He locked the door behind him.
He could honor Ed's last wish. No one would see Ed's research until Ling had figured out this last riddle: what it was Ed thought he wanted.
~
Ling dreamed.
The room was now familiar, with its ivory walls and low desks and cushions for his knees. Ling sat, facing the old Master, settled on his velvet pillows, willowy old hands adjusting the scroll in front of him. Ling sat, and he waited for the story. Beside him was a figure swathed in black robes, face hidden, and Ling didn't look at him. This was new, but he didn't care.
"...and even though the immortal Emperor thought he had everything, it turned out that what he had truly wanted was something he could not have. And now, although young in body, the Emperor was very old, and everyone he had ever loved had died many years ago."
Ling was very still. He felt the age of his years in his bones, but his hands were smooth in his lap and his heart was strong in his chest. His spirit was old; his body was young. He had lived too much, seen too much, lost too much.
"There was only one thing that the Emperor wanted now. Does anyone remember what it is?" The Master looked up, and he turned to Ling. "Young Yao?"
He knew this. He should know this. He needed to know this. This was what Ed had wanted him to know, and he didn't want to disappoint Ed. He closed his eyes. He thought. He dreamed. If he could start over, he would change things. He would revoke his responsibilities. He would never become the Emperor, because now he knew that there were more important things in life. If becoming the Emperor meant he had to live forever-
And suddenly, he remembered that dream, the one where he and Ed had gotten old together. Maybe Ed would still die first, but then Ling only had five or ten years to look forward to, not an eternity.
He knew the answer.
He knew what he wanted.
Ling opened his eyes and he looked at the Master, patiently waiting for his response. "He wanted to die. The old Emperor wanted to die."
The Master nodded once at him. "Very good."
His companion stood up, then, the man in the dark robes, and he pulled back the hood. It was Ed inside of the robes, the Ed of his youth, maybe in his twenties or so. He was beautiful and golden perfect, and he was smiling. "Come on," Ed said, stretching out his hand to Ling. "Let's go."
Ling reached out his hand, and he woke up crying into his pillow.
~
Lihua opened all of the alchemical locks in Ed's office for Ling. What he found amazed the both of them; Ed's credenza was filled with decades of research, all handwritten and categorized by year. At the very top of the boxes of research was another envelope, bearing Ling's name, lying on top of an old leather-bound journal. Inside the envelope was another letter.
My father died sitting in front of my mother's grave, all alone, with a smile on his face.
I never remembered him being happy. After he met my mom and me and Al were born, he spent the rest of his life trying to figure out how to die with us because he couldn't bear the thought of continuing on after Mom was gone.
I know your situation is a little different, but I don't want you to abandon everyone who loves you and counts on you the same way he did, searching for a way to die when you're ready.
Included in these files is my research from the past forty-five years. It details anything I could think of that you might need in order to join me when you're ready. I've outlined a way for you block off your chi from detection (though you should really thank Lihua for that) so you can leave without being followed. There's also a bit about the construction of an automatically locking device that you can put the stone in to keep it from being used by anyone you don't want to use it. There's even a way to destroy it, if you want to do it that way.
The only thing I didn't get finished was a way for you to have your own heir. I know bloodlines are important there, but I don't know what's going to happen exactly after you take out the stone. Either way, your best bet is to find one of your sibling's kids beforehand, I think.
Anyway, so you don't have to take ten years to read through all this shit, everything you need to know is in this notebook. Burn everything after you're through with it.
Sitting in that chair again, Ling felt a bit gratified to know that he had read Ed correctly. No, that wasn't it-Ed had read him correctly. That idiot Ed, he had known all along that this was where Ling was going to end up. He had just ended up there sooner than either of them had expected.
He picked up the journal and opened it up to the first page. He stared at it for a moment and then turned the journal over and looked at it upside down to see if it made anymore sense that way. It didn't.
"Lihua," he said, his voice quiet and calm. "I am going to need your help with this."
He handed her the letter, and her eyes scanned the page, slowly translating the Amestrian in her mind. When she got to the bottom, she paused, and then handed the paper back. "Your highness. Is this what you want?"
Ling sighed. "I don't want to die, Lihua. But I'm so tired. I'm...so tired. I want...I want to be wherever he is. He always knew it'd end up like this. This is all-" He looked at the stacks of research, years and years of study dedicated to one single subject. "This is all for me."
Lihua bowed her head. "I shall respect your wishes, and my master's wishes," she told him.
"Thank you." Ling stood up, closing the journal again and handing it to her. "I will need time to...arrange things, and you will need time to understand these things." He closed the cabinet and had her lock them again, and then he locked the door to the study behind him. He had some planning to do.
~
It took time, and a lot of it, but time was no longer Ling's enemy.
Time had stolen from him everything that it would take: Fuu, Ran Fan, Ed. Time could no longer damage a timeless man.
He would give up his country before time could take it.
He would give up his life before time could figure out a way to force him to suffer longer.
It took time to meet many of his nieces and nephews belonging to the siblings that were not actively trying to remove him from the throne. It took time to get to know them, to understand their motives and passions, though it was helped by the fact that none of them realized his ultimate agenda. It took time to sift through all of them and choose one to succeed him to the throne.
He took his time doing it. He would make no mistakes.
He made trips out to the ocean to sit beside Ed's monument and to think. He made plans. He fired some people, hired new people, promoted other people. He arranged things to let them remain stable. He wrote some letters. He learned to disguise his chi and routinely disappeared from the palace without letting anyone know but the head of the Imperial guard.
He attended a funeral in Rizenbul and watched Al discover the pain of living without one's soul mate. A year later, he attended another funeral, and it was bittersweet, losing another friend and knowing that Al had accomplished so easily what Ed had devoted his entire life to.
He brought Ed's boxes and boxes of research out to the courtyard after Lihua had been through anything she might need, and he set it all on fire.
He searched his libraries until he found an appropriate epitaph.
He took his time, and time waited for him.
~
The sun rose slowly over the eastern sea, casting a splendor of orange and pink and red across the starry dark sky. The waves crashed against the cliffs, the wind whistled between the rocks. Here, it was quiet and loud; separated from the sound of people and living and life, there was only nature. The wind howling through the crags, the water crashing against the stone, and nothing.
Here, nestled innocuously between two rising crags, stood a lonely stone mausoleum. Here was where the great Fullmetal Alchemist had been laid to rest. Here was where the once immortal Emperor of Xing joined him in his eternal slumber.
Here was the place where the doors to that sepulcher had been opened, where Ling had taken his place sitting on the dusty floor next to the coffin, in the center of a circle incorporated into the very foundation of the tomb. Here was the place where Ling had nodded to Lihua gravely, where he had said in no uncertain terms, "I am ready."
Here was where Lihua had performed the transmutation to destroy the philosopher's stone that kept the Emperor from achieving his last wish. Here was where Ling closed his eyes for the very last time, where the doors were sealed with alchemy, where he imagined that Ed was reaching his hand out for him again, and this time he was able to take it.
Here was the words of Ling's epitaph transmuted into the stone, so that everyone would know why the immortal Emperor of Xing, the man who had everything anyone could ever ask for, had decided once and for all to leave the mortal plane:
And so, on this night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my guide,
In this sepulcher here by the sea,
In his tomb by the sounding sea.