Disclaimer: All ownership of the amazing world of Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Arakawa.

Author's Note: I decided to explore the playground of Ling and Lan Fan's childhood together. All the events in the fic support the background I imagine for Ling and Lan Fan in my story, Dirge. I expect to have lots of fun bouncing between this fic and that one!

Author's (Long-winded) Explanation: Sometimes I need to write through the various ponderings that enter my brain. One such pondering was the nature of Ling's frequent collapsings. In my mind, Ling suffers from Iron Deficiency Anemia. (Mine is a mind which takes obvious gags in shows and gives them solid, medical explanations. :P) This fic was meant to develop that idea, and has now morphed into a monster. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Love is a Many Splendored Thing

When it comes down to it, Ling is a serious boy who loves to smile and tease, and Lan Fan is an easily-flustered girl who tries desperately to remain serious. The combination of the two is both amusing to one and embarrassing to the other, but regardless it exists true and strong. A Ling without a Lan Fan to rely upon could never exist in the world – a Lan Fan without a Ling to follow would have no purpose.

In fact, to put it scandalously plainly, Ling Yao loves Lan Fan. He always has, even if it took him years to realize it, from the moment he first met her at the age of six.

He had been short then, and skinny, a small wisp of a boy who, upon his sixth birthday, would be sent from his foster home to live with his second aunt's sister-in-law's cousin (or something equally convoluted). There Ling would train under the strict tutelage of Fu, a man stronger than a mountain and sharper than the blades that he wielded.

Even then, as a child, Ling was not stupid. He knew perfectly well, despite the assurances of his second aunt, that his going away to train was no honor, and was entirely his own fault. The clan had decided to send him to Fu's home in a kind of desperate, last-ditch effort to mold Ling into a plausible ruler.

Ling had heard the whispers all his life - even as an infant he had been depressingly weak. What had first been seen as a blessing – "Imagine! A newborn baby that sleeps all through the night, and naps during the day!" – had soon become cause for alarm. "He sleeps and sleeps and does not awaken!" "The young lord has collapsed in his play pen!"

"The boy's blood is weak," the Imperial Healer had revealed to his second aunt. "It wanes where it should roar – a condition unfit for Emperor."

This was unacceptable. With the Yao Wife not showing any further inclination towards pregnancy – indeed, many suspected she had grown too old – the hopes and futures of the Yao clan rested solely on young Ling's shoulders. There was no other option. If the boy's blood was weak, why, then it must be strengthened!

And so the Twelfth Son would leave his foster home to live with Fu, and hopefully learn how to be strong.

For all his carefree smiles, young Ling understood perfectly well that he was to be sent away, and for a long while. How many times had he overheard his second aunt – wet-nurse and foster mother – speaking in low tones with her husband?

"He fainted again, today. Just collapsed in the yard."

"The sun is too bright for him, Kama."

"He cannot always stay inside!"

"He tires too easily."

"No appetite."

"No endurance."

"No hope."

Ling had listened, and understood, and therefore did not make a fuss about leaving. He was an heir, and heirs did not have temper tantrums. Still, that did not stop him from craning his neck out the back of the cart, peering around Kama's shoulder to stare at his slowly receding home, the family dog's barking still audible from the farm yard.

He did not want to go. He did not want to live among strangers. Kama and Han were his family, his parents. Fu sounded larger-than-life; the whole clan spoke of him as they would a legend: Fu, the warrior-guardian. It was said that he had protected four Yao Wives before Ling's own mother, and now he served as an instructor for all the family's bodyguards. Fu had once fought off over ten assailants at once, armed only with a single sword, and had emerged with not a scratch on him!

For a boy who could not even wake up in the mornings without growing faint, Ling quailed at the thought of standing next to so strong a man as Fu.

The journey to his new home was not long, Han easily directing the donkeys as Kama held Ling in her lap and hummed. The seat was not uncomfortable – Kama had recently announced that she and Han would be having yet another child, but the baby had not grown too large yet. Ling could still sit easily on Kama's lap, and he often poked at her rounded stomach curiously.

Now however, Ling could not be bothered with thoughts of a small little cousin growing in his foster mother's belly. It took three hours before they reached the place where Fu lived, Han driving slowly out of consideration for Kama and the baby. Ling looked at the passing scenery with steadily growing dread. What would his new life be like?

Beyond a doubt, Ling knew that this Fu must surely be a giant. The boy's young imagination had no trouble painting the warrior as fierce, tall and bulky. He probably even breathed fire, like those ogres-under-the-mountain he had read about in his lessons. They ate children, Ling had learned, especially bad ones. He huddled down in Kama's arms and glared at the passing trees.

By the time his foster father's cart had pulled up to a small and modest house, Ling knew, just knew, that his teacher would be at least three stories tall, blue-faced, and a screaming monster. Not even the lovely green and shaded meadow in which they had arrived could convince him otherwise. He eyed the small hut, tucked as it was peacefully into the roots of a tree-covered hill, with extreme suspicion, and clutched tightly to Kama's hand as she led him slowly into the house.

Even inside, all the smells were strange: oil and leaves, cobwebs and medicine. Ling assessed his new home with trepidation. While not so very different from Han and Kama's own house, it remained unfamiliar and unwelcome. Four doorways lined the walls of the reception room – Ling sat on the bamboo matts with his foster parents, and thought of his old home, his real home.

He wanted the smells of plums and wheat, of wet dog and cousin Jiiro's inkwells. He wanted the familiar garden outside the window, not some large and spidery-looking old tree. He did not want to stay here, alone, while Kama and Han went back home to have a new baby! Tucking in his chin, Ling screwed his eyes tightly shut and fought the urge to cry. Heirs were brave! Heirs did not cry.

"Young master," Kama's low voice gently brought him back to the present. Looking up with a quiet sniffle and a frown, Ling saw that he had missed the arrival of three new people. Now they knelt before him in duck-order, oldest to youngest, a small girl and a wrinkled old man flanking a not-so-small and not-so-wrinkled adult.

As one unit, they bowed. The wrinkled man spoke first, looking directly into Ling's eyes with grave seriousness. "Welcome, young master. Your presence here honors this humble home." At every other word or so, the old man's grey moustache twitched. Ling would have found it funny in any other circumstance. Now however, it was strange and unknown – Han did not have a moustache. None of Ling's cousins had moustaches either.

Ling decided quite firmly that he hated moustaches.

But still, the man was small and old, and Ling liked old people. They never walked too quickly, and always sat in the shade with him whenever he grew dizzy, so Ling gave the old man a jerky nod of recognition.

"It is very nice to see you again, Kama and Han," the not-old-not-young man said in his turn. While unwrinkled, his face bore the same stoic calmness of the old man's, and he offered his welcome to Ling with solemnity. "It is nice to see you again as well, young master. My name is Zhuang."

Han leaned forward to catch Ling's eye around Kama. "Zhuang is the Imperial Guard of the Yao Wife, young master," he told Ling. "He has traveled very far, all the way from the palace, to welcome you here. It pays you great respect."

The man bowed again, and surprised Ling with a fond smile. "You will not remember me, but I used to care for you before my daughter was born. She is five, one year younger than yourself."

His daughter, Ling assumed, was the tiny third person kneeling restlessly beside Zhuang. The room grew silent, for it was her turn to speak, and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously.

"Lan Fan," her father prodded. "Greet the young master, who is to be emperor."

The young girl, Lan Fan, forced herself into stillness. Ling saw her take one deep breath – two, three, four – before she peeked up at him from underneath her bangs.

She was so small, and her skittishness put young Ling in mind of the tiny baby rabbits he and his cousin had once found in the farm shed. They too had peered up at him nervously with large dark eyes, small-boned, scruffy, and wary. This girl even had two small buns on either side of her head, like little round rabbit ears.

The unexpected familiarity surprised a smile on Ling's face, and he found himself grinning happily at the girl. She furrowed her brow in response, bowing quickly. "…'lo, young master," came a softly mumbling voice, and Ling felt his smile grow even wider. The baby rabbits had been shy, too.

"Lan Fan," the old man said, moustache twitching. "Show the young master where he is to sleep, and take him outside."

Kama made a concerned noise. "The young master does not do well out-of-doors…"

"Lan Fan will not take him far. And we have much to discuss."

Kama relented, giving Ling's hand a squeeze before releasing it. He was not so easily deterred, and he clutched at her knuckles desperately. Leaning down, Kama brushed his bangs away from his face. "Heirs are brave, young one," she whispered with a smile. "And this is not goodbye. I will call you in when we have finished talking."

Assured that his foster parents would not be leaving him, Ling stood and made to follow the little girl through one of the doors. The sudden movement left him dizzy, however, and he swayed on his feet before regaining focus. Sharp pain stabbed in his chest, causing him to wobble even more unsteadily.

He scowled, embarrassed as the adults regarded him gravely, and marched quickly towards Lan Fan. At least she had not seen him stumble, he thought, as she held open the door. As he passed, he heard the old man say, "I believe I understand the malady. His mother suffers from a similar…" before Lan Fan closed the door with a click.

Two bed rolls lay side-by-side beneath a window, faded and frayed blankets piled neatly on them both. The room was simple – humble bedding and a green chest for clothes the only furniture to be seen. But on the windowsill Ling noticed a careful arrangement of misshapen rocks, interspersed here and there with a feather or two, and a young fern sat potted in the corner.

"Thissus my room," Lan Fan mumbled with a light lisp, staring determinedly at the floor. "Gran'father says you c'n sleep in here, with me, till father leaves again."

It was a small space, not at all scary, and smelled like the outdoors. Ling stared, then remembered that heirs were polite, and looked back at Lan Fan. "I like it," he announced formally.

Her face pinked, and she smiled at the floorboards. "Father made me clean it up," she said shyly. "You c'n have the bed by the window, if you want."

"Okay."

"…"

"Those feathers look neat. And I like your rocks."

"Th-thank you. I…I like your bun. It looks nice."

Ling put an offended hand to his hair. "It's a topknot," he corrected. "Not a bun. Buns are for girls."

Lan Fan raised her hands thoughtfully to her own two side-buns.

"Oh," she realized.

"Those are called ox-horns," Ling informed her smartly. "But they're still buns. Topknots aren't buns."

"Oh."

"And it's not nice. I don't like it. It pulls my hair."

"Oh," Lan Fan whispered now, wide-eyed. "Does it hurt?"

"Course not," he shrugged with extreme diffidence. "I'm a prince. It's just stupid hair."

"Oh."

"Know what else?" Ling settled himself down onto the floor. Lan Fan followed suit, tucking her feet beneath her and looking up at him with big black eyes, completely rapt. "I one time went to the palace."

Lan Fan gasped softly, Ling puffed out his chest importantly, and the friendship was sealed. The young prince chatted happily at Lan Fan, quite forgetting his worries and nerves in the face of her wide-eyed attention. He liked her - she was smaller even than him; all of his cousins were already old enough to have started working in the fields. The youngest of them had just turned ten, practically a grown-up in Ling's world.

This novelty of having somebody his own age to talk to was wonderful, and Ling thought that it might not be so bad, living here, if Lan Fan stayed too.

Ling's mood brightened considerably at the thought of having an actual friend, and not just friendly cousins. It stopped him in the middle of his listing his favorite foods ("I like all kinds, but my very favorite is pickled plums. You've never had them? They're so good! Pickled plums with rice!").

"I think we're friends now," he confided seriously. Lan Fan said nothing, only ducked her head again, but Ling saw her smile before she did so. "You'll be my first one. Okay?" Silence. "Okaaaay?"

Finally, Lan Fan looked up. Her face was still red, eyes averted nervously, but a happy smile stretched across it. "Y-you'll be my first friend too," she whispered.

Thrilled, Ling leaned forward. "Really?"

"Well, Luan sometimes brings our cousins over, but thass not the same."

"Who's Luan?"

"M' sister."

"Oh. Doesn't she live here too?"

Lan Fan shook her head. "No. Just me and gran'father."

Wait a minute…Ling frowned. "But then, what about…Fu?"

Lan Fan mirrored his confused expression. "Thass gran'father," she said slowly. "Thass his name."

"Really?" Ling sat up straight, shocked. "That old man – ?"

But before Ling could fully express his disbelief - Fu was an old man? Not an ogre? - a soft voice came from behind the two children.

"Young master," Kama leaned against the doorway, a hand resting on her belly. Her long black braid hung down over her shoulder. "We are finished discussing the arrangements. Come and say goodbye to Han."

Ling shot to his feet, all fear returning. "You're leaving?"

"No, no, only Han," Kama corrected gently. "I'm staying with you. Han must return to the fields, and watch over your cousins. But the baby is going to make me feel very tired, so I won't be much help at home for very long. So I will be staying with you, for a while, to help Fu get settled with the two of you. Lan Fan," she said. "Zhuang is going back to the palace as well. He'll be riding a bit of the way with Han, so he's leaving now too. Will you come and say goodbye?"

Lan Fan clambered to her feet, shy again, and looked so grave that Ling did not think twice about taking her hand. He held it still even as they walked through the now-empty reception room, and kept his grip while standing on the front porch. From there they saw that Han and Zhuang had already loaded into Han's cart, the donkey twitching his long ears impatiently.

"Goodbye, young master!" Han called, grinning broadly. "I will be back in two weeks! Take care of Kama and the baby for me!"

Zhuang sat next to Han, the donkey's reins in his hands, and while he did not wave or shout, he did smile gently at the two children. Head ducked slightly under the weight of Fu's hand, Lan Fan's curled and tiny hand waved solemnly back at her father.

When at last the cart had drawn out of sight, and the sun had fallen beneath the face of the hill, Kama sighed and put a hand to her back. She stretched, the rounded bump of her belly showing beneath her ru shirt. "Well. I'll just fix something for dinner then. Young master," she said. "Fu has told me that he might know a way to make you less tired all of the time. We might have to change the foods that you eat, but it will probably make you feel much better."

"Indeed," Fu spoke, looking down at Ling sternly, but not without kindness. This small old man was so different from what Ling had imagined, but still he felt a twinge of fear. "Many meats, particularly fish, and a great deal of greenery. You shall not be permitted to take tea with us either, unless it is green or made with herbs. You will need your strength, young prince. Tomorrow I will start your training."

Ling swallowed. "Y-you will?"

A pressure on his right hand, and Lan Fan leaned close to whisper, "I train tomorrow too," before she squeezed his hand again.

Well, Ling thought, that wouldn't be so bad.

"And since the young master is getting his special food for dinner tonight," Kama smiled down at Lan Fan. "Lan Fan gets to choose desert. What should we have?"

Lan Fan smiled again at Ling. "Pickled plums with rice."

Ling grinned.

Not so bad at all.