IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm taking some liberty with the way the show ended. The Promise Day still occurred; however, Edward still has his automail arm and the ability to use alchemy. (Make up your own reason why: it doesn't matter for my story.) We're also going to assume that Amestris speaks basically German and Creta (the country to the southwest) speaks French. ED is SHORT! I'm cutting off his height at 5'3".
New Note: Just to make it clear, I am ignoring the FMA movie The Sacred Stars of Milos, and with it, the information they set up about Creta. Although, I might borrow the urban design of Table City.
A quick shower, a panic rush to find his dress uniform, and then Edward was out the door, running like Sloth-on-a-bad-day until he was able to hail down a cab to the State House. Edward leapt up the granite front steps two-by-two and presented his watch to the guards.
He did, in fact, seem to be late. The place was already a hustle and bustle of dignitaries, officers, and other notables of various backgrounds, milling about, making small talk, or speaking in subtle doublespeak.
"5:55, I'm impressed." General Mustang stepped up beside Lt. Colonel Elric and handed him a glass of champagne.
"Don't worry, I didn't damage anything on the way over," Edward joked.
Mustang gave him an honest grin; it seemed the stress of the last few weeks was wearing off, now that the special event was finally happening (and without any hitches thus far). Or perhaps, the General had simply gotten into the champagne before the younger man had arrived.
The two looked out across the room.
The ballroom was decked out in Amestrian blue and Cretan red; ribbons wrapped in undulating patterns across the ceiling and walls; embroidered banners with the emblems of both countries hung high above the guests. A small orchestra was playing a Cretan waltz and a few couples danced in the center. Dozens of circular tables were scattered about, decked in shimmering gold cloth, each with a bouquet of white flowers and a view of the VIP table at the front.
Ed commented, "They sure didn't pull any punches for this."
"Of course," said Mustang matter-of-factly, "although considered quite conservative and introverted, the country of Creta is extremely powerful. By some miracle, they've never pressed their forces beyond Pendleton, probably wary of the State Alchemist program. The recent ceasefire presented a perfect opportunity to form a formal peace treaty, even a possible alliance."
"Brushing up on your homework, eh, future Fuhrer?" Ed nudged him with his metal elbow.
"Fullmetal," he scolded, "maybe you should take things more seriously and learn what is actually going on. And stop snoring during my briefings!"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Ed said. He took a sip of his champagne and made a face; he hated bubbly drinks.
A sergeant came and whispered in the General's ear. The General snapped, "What, again? Isn't this the third time? Can't they keep track of their own royalty?"
"What is it?" asked Edward.
Mustang rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, "The Cretan princess is missing again. It seems she keeps ducking her bodyguard. And she seems very adept at finding places to hide."
Holly! Edward downed his drink."Oh, oh, that, um, must be a pain," he tried to commiserate.
"I'm a General, for crying out loud, not a freakin' babysitter." Mustang barked orders to several officers to fan out and search the building. Meanwhile, Edward stealthily retreated and slipped out into a servant hallway – he had a hunch.
Even after defeating the homunculi, Edward had still scoured through decades of floor plans, suspicious of any other unofficial labs still operating inside the government. He remembered the State House had been no-too-recently overhauled; this left the third floor a hodgepodge of administrative offices, with a quaint balcony that had a single awkward access.
After getting turned around a couple times, Edward found the southwest corner of the building and walked up the narrow servant staircase to a small access door at the top. The door was slightly ajar, letting in the sounds of distant cars and the breeze of the autumn evening. He stepped out into the night.
Holly, the Princess Francesca, stood by the marble balustrade, staring down at her hands.
Edward's breath hitched. She certainly wasn't "no-one" tonight. She wore a long, elegant, midnight-blue dress with an asymmetrical neckline that bared her right shoulder; the sleeves came to her elbows, overlapped by black silk gloves, and a slit ran up her right leg, revealing freckles on her smooth calf. Then perched on her cropped copper locks was a delicate tiara of white and red stones.
Now that he'd found her, he wasn't quite sure what his plan had been. "Um, good evening, Princess Francesca?" he spoke in Cretan.
The princess jumped a step, turned, and smiled relieved. "It is a lovely evening. Would you care to join me?"
Edward hesitantly stepped beside her and said, "You have them running around like mice in a maze, right now."
She shrugged, "They have no hold on me. My uncle, the Prince Regent, is who they really want to talk to this evening."
"Okay…um," the great Fullmetal Alchemist's mind was coming up blank. He tapped the marble balustrade and then asked, "So, um, why the name Holly before?"
"Oh, it's a nickname. Francesca Halycon Halloway Rose-Mereth. My mother just called me Holly." Called her, past tense.
During the general briefing about Creta, which Edward had not slept through, the officers were informed that the Prince Regent Marc Alexandre had taken the thrown after the King and Queen, along with dozens of Cretan citizens, had perished in an unspeakable accident. The briefing, however, was vague about the circumstances.
An accident…Ed mused. He looked over at the princess's left arm and blurted the question before his frontal cortex could smack it down, "Why do you hide your automail?"
"Oh," she gasped. Her eyes widened, and he could see fear rising in her chest as her breath quickened. "You cannot share that with anyone!"
"Okay, I promise," he said quickly, "My honor as an alchemist. I won't tell anyone, not even, not even my brother." It truly was the best promise he could come up with: he told Alphonse everything.
She stared at him as if scanning his expression for a shadow of truth. Then she rubbed her hands together and exhaled a weight off her shoulders. "It's, a bit of a state secret. My uncle is concerned that common knowledge of it would, uh, diminish my chances of a profitable marriage."
"Profitable," the word tasted sour in his mouth.
"Yes. In the Cretan aristocracy, marriages are often to seal agreements or distribute influence."
The Xing prince had made a similar statement years ago and yet, "But even Ling married for love!"
"Ling? Emperor Yao? Yes, I suppose he did, and he's still dealing with the aftermath of that decision."
"Aftermath? Why should it matter to anyone else who someone else marries, why does marriage matter at all? Why can't two people just love each other? Why are there all these rules that ruin people's lives," Ed said passionately, an image of Hawkeye and Mustang split by a chasm of rank blaring in his mind. "It's not fair, damn it!"
Edward's brain caught up with his mouth, and his face burned red. How'd he gone from having a crush on a princess to discussing marriage with her? (Albeit marriage in a general sense.)
She smiled wistfully, "If only everyone thought as you do."
"Right, yeah, well," Edward started to fidget with his braid, "Uh, you been reading the book?"
"Oh yes," she said and started to jabber on excitedly, "it is all so fascinating, equivalent exchange, composition, deconstruction, reconstruction. All the things you have to take into consideration: the basic form, the molecular structure, the elemental materials. All these materials flowing into something new, everything constantly flowing it seems, as if the world is many and the world is one."
"All is one, one is all," Ed restated, "something my teacher taught me." He paused before asking, "Why do you want to learn alchemy? It's not very popular in Creta."
"True, and my uncle has always discouraged such interests. He would think it appallingly improper for one of my position to learn such a trade," she flexed her automail hand, "But, I am afraid of alchemy," she looked pointedly at Fullmetal, "I must conquer my fears."
Their eyes locked for two minutes too long; again, the strange energy built up around them as if any moment a spark could start a flame.
A door slammed below. The two turned at the sound of frantic not-so-distant footsteps.
"I guess I should be returning to the ball," she said, stepping slowly towards the small exit. She motioned toward the top of the doorframe that just missed her tiara and said, "It's good to be short."
Edward laughed goodbye. He waited for her to descend before exhaling a deep breath and resting his face on the cool marble, mumbling to himself, "Now, you're really an idiot."
The rest of the evening was a subtle, surreal nightmare that taunts one with ripe fruit just out of reach or water that's completely saline. Ed kept glancing up at the top table, the Princess seated beside the Prince Regent, seated merely across a ballroom but also a million miles away.
Mustang tugged on his braid. Ed shouted, "Hey, what's the big idea?"
"You look like a zombie, and you haven't touched your food. We wouldn't want to be rude would we?"
The young alchemist looked down at his Cretan entrée. Normally, he'd be stuffing his face with seconds or thirds by now; he approved of all functions that offered free meals. For someone so good at alchemy, the deconstructing and reconstruction of elemental materials, he was horrible at doing the same steps to ingredients to make edible food.
He pushed the plate away, "I'm actually not feeling well. Would it be rude if I ditch early?"
Mustang blinked surprised and gave Fullmetal a cursory inspection. He did seem lethargic and pale, and there was that time Fullmetal had the stomach flu at Havoc's Christmas party. "Um, alright…I'd rather not have you puke here. You're dismissed."
XXXXXXX
Edward spent the whole week trying to forget about Holly, only to spend the whole week getting teasing glimpses. A quick wave during a building tour, several smiles whenever she and Olga passed him on the parade ground, even a faraway blurry glance of her during the cultural festival.
And then she stalked him in his dreams. Most were innocent, just chatting on the balcony or in the library, but a few took an imaginative turn, working on his desire to see her automail, slowly stripping off her sweater, her glove, her shirt—
Ed fell out of bed with a smack and groaned into the floorboards. He dragged himself up, pulled his hair into a ponytail, and then padded out into the kitchen, wearing his black t-shirt and powder blue boxers. Going through the motions, he put two slices of bread in the toaster and then started to make coffee on the stove.
There was a soft knock. Who would be here on a Saturday? Fury, Sheska? Ed opened the door and was face to face with – Holly! Princess Francesca!
She stared down at his boxers; Edward stared down at his boxers. Edward promptly slammed the door in her face.
Then he heard Olga's booming voice, "You will be putting PANTS ON to meet Her Royal Highness or I will— " He didn't hear what doom was in store for him, but ran into the bedroom like a maniac, scattering clothes left and right, until he found a decent pair of black slacks to literally hop into.
He came back to the door, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath. Princess Francesca stood in the same spot, though looking a bit paler than before.
"So, so, so sorry. Perhaps, I should have called first," she stuttered. "I was so hoping I could get another alchemy lesson before I leave. Oh, is something burning?"
"Gah, my toast!" Ed dashed into the kitchen, knocking papers off the entrance table. Using his automail hand, he pulled out the black smoking bread and dropped it in the trash. Meanwhile, the Princess picked up the scattered letters that had fallen on the floor.
She held one up and froze, "You get letters from the Emperor of Xing?"
"Um, Ling, yeah," said Ed, "I mean once in a while."
"Emperor Yao writes you letters! The man personally handwrites you letters?"
"Um, yes. Though I'd much rather have the 10000 cenz he owes me," said Ed as he poured himself some over-brewed coffee.
Without the fancy gowns, he found it immensely easier to treat her as simply Holly –Holly, a young, intelligent Cretan lady. Still, his heart raced, his chest tightened, and his head felt as if it had floated off into the corner, watching everything in third person.
She put the letter down and followed Ed into the quaint living room, "I've heard many rumors about you, but clearly they don't do you justice. Anyone who can get even a second from a Xing Emperor…." Her eyes scanned the piles of books on the floor, and she started perusing through a stack near her.
"That one's a little too advance, for now." He sat on the floor and pawed through a teetering pile by the couch. "I do have a couple others that might be useful. Information on chemical element and molecular composition. Helps when the transmutations get more complicated."
Olga took up position by the entrance as the two settled down on the carpet.
Again, Edward redirected his nervous energy toward an alchemy lesson, and "simply Holly" followed his lead and faithfully played his alchemy student. They worked on the periodic table; Edward stressed how much of alchemy was rote memorization.
It had only been a half an hour when Olga cleared her throat and said, "Princess Francesca, it is time to go. We must get to the train station before His Majesty does."
"Oh, right," she stood up and straightened out her skirt.
Edward handed over the two texts, "Here, you can keep these, too. As you can tell I have too many."
"There is no such thing as too many books," she smiled, tucking them under her right arm. "Thank you for all your instruction and, indeed, for your discretion. I am truly in your debt." She held out her automail hand. Edward shook it stunned, feeling the hard metal beneath the soft fabric and the implied trust behind the simple gesture.
The Princess joined Olga by the door and then paused, "Um, sir, Fullmetal, may I write you?"
"Write me?" Ed repeated.
"You already get letters from an emperor, what more would some letters from a princess be?" she said.
He smiled like a school boy. "Sure, I'd like that."
Holly waved adieu. The door clicked shut, and Edward dropped his body into the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if waiting for the sky to fall. "Sure, I'd like that a lot."
