Author's note: I'm alive, guys! At first I was going to post Royai drabbles, but there are thirteen billion of those online. So I decided to turn to LingFan *adds "LingFan" to Word dictionary*, which has woefully few, and try my hand at that. I haven't written anything for AGES, and I looked through the 100 Themes Challenge lists on DeviantArt the other day. And I made a list, as I am wont to do. I went through all the lists of themes, took some out, added some of my own, and put them all together – so now I have a list of 274 themes. Let's see how far it gets, shall we? To my watchers – I think it's safe to say I'm OFF of Naruto fanfiction. I'm sorry.
I don't own FMA, it belongs to the Cow, and anyone who knows me personally knows how moody this makes me. I think I'll go and kill something now...
...oh, wait. I have to write a story. hehehehe. Enjoy!
1. Introduction
Firm hands on her shoulders, the honeyed scent of perfume and sharper one of metal mixing in her nostrils. It is autumn in Xing, leaves gilded and falling like rain all around her, but her father mutters to step around the leaves, piled as they are on the side of the path. They are there to be beautiful, and the skinny girl being steered around them is there to serve, not to look. Beautiful things are for the wealthy and the free.
The screech and clang of blades near through the trees as they walk. The girl looks up at her parents' impassive faces, biting her lip. She is nervous. Her uncle, the chief of her clan, has selected her for something. Her mother woke her in the early hours of the morning, still not long gone – the sun is not halfway through the sky – and threw a set of clothing at her.
"Lanfan, it's time. Up on your feet and in the front room in three minutes. Go."
She went. The clothes are strange, loose black pants and a rounded black chest plate. They're warrior's clothes, to be sure, but she's never seen this style before. Her family wears brown and deep red, not black. The sash is white, and she hums with irritation when it ties much too easily around her scrawny waist. The ties hang off two feet on each side. She doesn't have time to fix it, however, and races (silently) to where her parents are waiting.
She has been here before. It is the main residence of the Yao family. She has never seen Lady Jing, a former concubine, before, nor her son, Ling, who is Lanfan's age. Her father, though, was once the bodyguard of Lady Jing's sister, who died in childbirth. Her child died as well. He went five days without eating, a self-inflicted punishment for not going in her place. Truly it was absurd, but no one questioned him. There is nothing more shameful than a shield who dies after his mistress.
Now, she steps into the courtyard, a rectangle of stone cleared of leaves. It's barren, unfriendly, a perfect match for faces of the men and women who fill the space, sparring, tumbling, breathing even, eyes hard. A training courtyard.
Lanfan's mother clears her throat, and fluidly, as one, the combatants stop and turn to them. They are dressed as she is, black with white ties. Her mother rests her hand on Lanfan's head, which is ridiculous because she is ten and child has been replaced by warrior. Her cheeks redden all the same.
"This is her."
A woman laughs, a high, bird-like sound, in sharp contrast to the impenetrability of her black eyes and the knives between each of her fingers. "Your daughter? I expected less vanity from you, Yan."
"Nevertheless," Yan shoots back, her hand moving to her daughter's shoulder, "my lady requested the best youth our clan had to offer, and here she is. My father has trained her himself. The others are too young."
"And she isn't?"
Murmurs of doubt swell among the servants. The woman who had spoken places her hands on her hips. There is some noble blood in her veins, and she is obviously familiar with the strength it gives her in debate. She is beautiful, with deep-set eyes and a full mouth. Lanfan thinks privately those eyes should be ringed with kohl, mouth painted red. "That mere child cannot hope to protect our prince, no matter who has trained her. Too much rests on the young master's shoulders. You are a bigger fool than I had thought."
The insult to herself is nothing; at the jab at her mother, Lanfan moves automatically, like water, flying at the woman and striking at her forearm. The hand attached to the arm opens automatically, causing the four knives to fall and clatter on the stone. Her opponent's eyes snap, but she doesn't rise to the bait. Lanfan barely sees her hand move, but before she knows it, the knives on the ground have been replaced with four more. "I know what you're going to say," the woman smiles. Her façade has been lifted, leaving her eyes twinkling. "'You're a bigger fool for insulting my mother in front of me', or something like that, right? Or that I should hang on to my weapons tighter?"
The other servants are smirking. It suddenly dawns on Lanfan that she is being tested, and she has fallen right into the woman's trap. She drops back, suitably mortified, and bows lightly in shame, palms on thighs. "I apologize for my forwardness. It won't hap—"
"It seems I have died and someone has made you lady, Cai," an imperious voice says quietly from behind Lanfan. "Or has the girl mistaken you for me? I can think of no other reason why one servant should bow to another."
Cai looks up instantly, and her eyes are impassive again as she kneels and bows in the traditional way, as do the others in the courtyard. Her mother and father bow as well, and Lanfan goes with them, not realizing who the newcomers are until she lifts her head again.
"Remember your place," Lady Jing snaps quietly to Cai as she passes her. "Where is your mask?" she demands of Lanfan, stopping in front of her. "How old are you? I don't recall seeing you before."
Her father steps forward. "My lady, this is my daughter, Lanfan. You requested a bodyguard for your son. She is well-trained and hardworking, and she will serve you well. She hasn't been given her mask yet. Please accept my apologies for not seeing to that earlier."
"Get it now."
Lanfan is puzzled. Not that she has been selected for such a task, though she has her doubts about her abilities. Her plain brown mask is back at their house – her father told her to leave it behind. Does she require a new one?
Her father draws something out of the bag at his waist and hands it to her. She looks at the mask. The top is white, red under the eyes and black over the mouth. Half of the yin-yang symbol is painted on the forehead. She ties it around the back of her head and clasps her hands behind her back, turning to her mistress again. The mask still smells like paint.
Lady Jing sniffs, but glances at her son, who is standing half-behind her, back turned. "Ling, take your hands out of your pockets and come see your new bodyguard."
The prince turns and steps carefully around his mother's skirts, coming to stand in front of her. Lanfan kneels again, but looks up, startled, when he laughs. "Please don't," he protests. "Aren't you tired of bowing yet?"
"Ling!" his mother hisses. "What are you doing?"
"Mother, please. I know what I'm doing." Ling grins cheerfully at Lanfan, and she blushes, glad for the mask. "Sorry. My mother takes her role too seriously. Or at least that's what I think."
Jing's beautiful face twists into something that would have been called a snarl on the face of someone of lower class, but she steps back, her glare turning instead on her son's hands. They're still in his pockets.
"Since it seems to be the popular opinion that servants can't think for themselves" —he looks back questioningly at his mother— "what do you think – Lanfan?" She nods. "What do you think? Do you want to bow?"
He is slim and two inches taller than her. His eyes are narrow, as is common among the Yao clan; his smooth black hair is ponytailed with a ribbon down his back. He's still smiling, and she's starting to think he'll never do anything but. She likes his smile, but it flusters her – she's only ten – and she just manages to maintain her composure enough to process his question.
The rest of the servants are averting their eyes. Lady Jing stares directly at her, eyes piercing through the mask. Lanfan avoids her gaze. Her parents shift uneasily on either side of her.
No one has ever asked her if she wants to bow before. She squares her shoulders.
"Young master, if you—" She falters, gathers her courage and tries again. "You should not concern yourself with my comfort. I bow because of your status, not because I have the energy to do so. But thank you for your consideration, young master." And she bows, hating herself for no apparent reason.
Ling's smile slips just a hair before he laughs suddenly, but his eyes linger on her. "As you wish. Are you happy now, mother?"
The servants breathe a collective sigh of relief. Jing's smile is honeyed but lethal. Lanfan bites her lip hard.
-x-x-x-
It is the first occurrence in the cycle they will eventually fall into. He will recognize her wishes, and she will deny them.
It stings bitterly on her tongue every time she says no.
Author's note:
Reviews equal love. No flames, please. Thanks for reading!
(Oh, and thanks to IvyShort for yelling at me to finish this. I have excuses for not posting earlier, I promise. Are you happy now?)