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".

[I may occasionally use actual French or German when I feel the original sounds better or means something slightly different than the English version. And I may not translate it all, sorry.]


When the first letter arrived two weeks later, Edward wasn't sure he wanted to read it. He held it in his hands for an eternity as if the weight of all the possibilities hidden inside could crack titanium plating. Schrödinger's Cat and Pandora's Box all wrapped and flattened into an envelope.

But as the seconds ticked loudly by, not knowing became even more unbearable. He unfolded the cream paper; her cursive danced across the page in mathematically perfected arches and loops.

The first half was in ungrammatical Amestrian; a general introduction with wishes of wellness and interest in how life went. The second half was written in formal Cretan, commenting on a few of her experiences in Central before delving into more pressing questions about alchemy.

Edward responded back in Cretan (damn, he could speak it, but he knew his spelling would be shit), taking more time than with his reports, but still coming out with an egregiously shaky script.

And so it went. The first few letters exchanged started out professionally cordial: discussions of cultural differences, questions and answers for alchemy, talk of the general weather, comings and goings of mundane events.

After a few weeks, more personal inquiries and statements began to sneak in: a comment about General Bastard here, a complaint about mother-hen Olga there; a forward-thinking plea for more democratic nations, a bitter essay concerning self-righteous parliament members.

Holly lovingly described her hobbies of fencing and horseback riding (cousin Leo snapped his foil, after losing to me three times). Edward quickly made up a hobby to compensate, setting himself the task of learning the Xingese written characters (really more of a necessity than a hobby, as few alkahestry books available have been translated.)

Edward didn't even notice when she dropped the stiff Amestrian sie for du, or when he subconsciously responded by moving from vous to tu.

And it continued to snowball, until Edward was writing as if he'd known her for ages, rambling on about any little thing. Why do toasters only have two settings? Freakin' dry or damn-well burnt. Holly followed suit, though in more polite language. Heavens, I can't believe why any self-respecting woman would go about in heels; they are a thoroughly detestable invention.

Her letters, he suspected, were being sent under the radar. The return address on the front wasn't the palace. And she addressed the letters simply to Edward and signed only as Holly, so he did the same in reverse. It made it easy for him to forget he was writing to royalty.

Letter by letter, word by word. Edward Elric felt his heart making ample space for the young lady, even as he tried to stop himself, even as he logically suspected it would collapse into a pain worse than passing through the Gate.

Towards the middle of January, Edward received a short report from Holly about her success with alchemy – she'd made a glass jug for Olga, complete with swirling patterns based on different chemical imperfections – and then she made a personal request that had Edward seeing stars.

I do hope we can be reacquainted while I'm in Central. And, to be truthful, I'm terribly curious what you look like with your hair down.

XXXXXXX

The Cretan delegation would be back in Central in three days, and Fuhrer Grumman had personally assigned security to General Mustang and his men. Though not public knowledge, there had been two assassination attempts against Cretan aristocracy in the past couple months (a group of anti-royalists, descended from Aerugo refugees, had been blamed), and all precautions would be taken, even in Amestris.

Mustang's men, however, were not thrilled.

"Seriously, we have to babysit spoiled dignitaries," said Havoc, "I'd rather do latrine duty."

"Do not assign me the Princess, sir," said Falman, "I'm really sick of getting people that wander off from me."

"Yeah, seriously, that's more work than the rest of them combined," said Breda.

"You get what you get," said Mustang. He pulled a slip of paper out of the hat, "Havoc, assigned to Lord Sevoir and his wife. Breda, guard duty at the forward post outside the embassy. Fullmetal, Princess Francesca…."

The General continued to pull out names, but Lt. Colonel Elric was a thousand miles away crashing and burning in a fiery display of Murphy's Law. How could he guard someone so, so distracting? How could he even fully function in her presence? Part of him didn't even want to meet her again, to discover all his reading-between-the-lines had been an idiot's runaway fantasy.

The meeting adjourned. He approached the General. "Sir, I request that I be reassigned, I need to say that—"

"I don't care what you have to say. I am your commanding officer, and I've given you an assignment. Sorry, if you ended up with the short stick; try your hardest not to lose her."

"Damn it! Mustang, listen, I just think it would cause a conflict if I—"

"I don't care if you're concerned about causing an incident with your temper," Mustang pushed up his glasses, "You're not a child anymore, Fullmetal. Control your-damn-self. You don't need to interact with her, just stand there. End of discussion. Here are the papers. Have a nice day."

Edward huffed away and slammed his fist into a cabinet, muttering, "I tried. If anything happens, he can't say I didn't try to tell him."

"What'd you need to tell, boss?" asked Havoc.

"That princesses are incredible pains-in-the-asses," said Edward, redirecting the Lieutenant's curiosity.

"Don't feel too bad," said Breda, and he wagged his eyebrows, "at least it will be a nice view."

Edward flipped Breda from his chair and stormed out of the office.

"What was that about?" asked Fury as he helped Breda up.

"Not sure, but he sure does seem high-strung," said Havoc, "He must have some serious sexual frustrations goin' on." The other gentlemen nodded in agreement.

XXXXXXX

Winter in Central City was unusually bloody cold this year; the temperature dipped below freezing for days, bursting pipes and overloading furnaces. The only consolation was the current average snowfall: zero inches.

So Edward Elric walked to the Cretan Embassy on a stunningly cloudless and star-filled evening, not a speck of snow on the ground, feeling the creeping frostbite from his winter automail and the tight tingle of anxiety spreading across his chest.

Edward unfolded a paper out of his jacket pocket and scanned it to distract himself. Earlier that day, Mustang had distributed a Cretan etiquette memo to all his officers. Ed skipped to the part about the Princess.

· You must address her as Princess Francesca, Your Highness, or Your Royal Highness.

· Only polite bows. No handshakes. (Touching royalty is considered rude in Creta.)

· You are to stand at a designated post or walk one foot behind her.

· Do not stare directly into royalty's eyes. (This is considered rude in Creta.)

· Do not initiate conversation unless it is an emergency.

He didn't bother to finish reading. He clapped his hands, turned the memo into a fancy paper airplane, and sent it flying into a sidewalk trashcan.

At the Embassy, they inspected his silver watch and paperwork closely before granting him a brass clearance badge and directing him to the second floor. All the oak doors looked the same, but Olga standing guard was hard to miss.

She stared down at him, "Oy, the runt alchemist is back." Edward squeezed his automail fist, and a vein in his forehead pulsed. Olga laughed, "I joke with you Fullmetal. It is good to see my Princess happy. Your letters never fail to brighten her mood." She gave him a hearty pat on the back.

Edward regained his balance and managed a weak, "Really?"

Olga smiled like a Cheshire cat and tossed the young alchemist into the room. "Your Amestris bodyguard, Your Highness!"

The Princess sat on the floor by the fireplace; books and random bits of materials scattered in front of her. Her emerald eyes glowed in awe of the words on the page. The copper of her hair absorbed and reflected the dancing flames like the energy in a Philosopher's Stone.

The universe shifted inside Edward. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to broach the subject? What if all he was, was a silly soldier to entertain a lonely princess? Or perhaps a lonely princess looking merely for a sincere friend? And what if she rejected him, became offended, declared war on Amestris for his impudence!

Also, Edward desperately wanted to spend time with her, he dared not rush and risk this opportunity before it had even begun! And although they'd reacted well in theory, on paper, he wondered how well they would react in practice, in person for long stretches of the day.

I'll do something in a few days, he promised himself; his feet growing colder in their military-issued boots.

She looked up and beamed, "Edward?!" She said his name! With a lovely Cretan accent! Edward felt all the oil drain out of his automail, leaving him weak in the joints.

"Holly," he responded in kind as the outside world melted away.

She patted the ground beside her and spoke in Cretan, "Come, come, do sit with me. Come test me on the elements. I bet I have everything about them memorized now! Even basic carbon-based molecules, I can do it! Don't go easy on me!"

"Never," said Edward. And they slid back into their roles, playing the safe charade of teacher and student.

Edward could only become more enamored with her as she recited the periodic table of elements without a pause, explained the basic structures and differences of cyclical carbon molecules, and demonstrated deftly her transmutation of sand into a glass mug.

"This one is for you," she said, "Do you approve of it?"

Ed inspected in the firelight. The handle was the serpentine bodies of two dragons, whose fierce heads came to rest near the foot of the glass. Their detailed scales were tinged with reds and blues, the addition of trace concentrations of selenium and cobalt oxide.

"Wow," said Ed, grateful that the radiant heat from the fire hid the ruddiness of his cheeks, "You sure figured out my style."

He turned to find Holly had inched closer to him, probably to gauge his reaction, and her emerald eyes hypnotized him; trace amounts of chromium, tin oxide, arsenic, he listed to himself, as if they were delicate orbs of colored glass.

The door opened and Olga announced, "Dinner is ready, Your Highness."

As Olga and the Princess headed to the formal dining room, a young Cretan servant showed Edward to a battered table in the back of the embassy's kitchen. He joined several other servants and guards to indulge in some of the kitchen's extras for their meal break, including a dozen tiny mincemeat pies that had come out too browned to be served at the royal table.

Two Cretan privates sniggered to each other. Edward perked up his ears.

"Look, Maurice, can you believe they sent that to be Her Highness's guard. Must be a joke! Amestrians giving us the snub. Ce gringalet est une insulte a Creta."

"Seriously, how old is he anyway? Eh, Jean, you think he needs a booster seat?"

"I don't understand why our country needs peace with them. If someone like that can become a soldier, I bet we could crush them easily," said Maurice.

"I never understood why we concentrated so many forces on petty skirmishes with Pendleton. We should've just taken the whole damn western region!" Jean declared.

Ed's right hand, hidden beneath the table edge, slowly bent a steal spoon in half. As much as he wanted to pummel the two officers into pulp or use such an outrageous show of alchemy that they'd be traumatized into submission, he knew he had to keep his temper in check, for the sake of his country, his job, and his current assignment.

He thought of making a snide remark in Cretan, but liked having a secret advantage up his sleeve. If everyone assumed he couldn't understand their language, what more kind of information might they accidentally reveal to him?

The kitchen door burst open and a tall auburn-haired dandy walked in reciting bad poetry. He spun a few of the prettier pantry maids around and kissed them playfully on the cheek, tickling them with his handlebar mustache.

"Oh, Prince Leopold," twittered one girl.

Prince Leopold? Leo? Edward recalled Holly mentioning a cousin Leo a few times, but based on her description – ignorant, rash, and prone to tantrums – he'd assumed she was writing about a child.

"Go, eat," said the Prince in poorly pronounced Amestrian, giving orders to his guard as you would a dog. Capt. Falman walked out from the shadows and came to join Lt. Colonel Elric at the table.

"Falman?" said Edward.

"I'm really not sure I can take much more of this," Falman said, turning gray in the face.

The Prince suddenly became very animated, nearly dropping another girl in mid-spin. He pointed excitedly to Edward before dashing out of the kitchen. He returned with a lady receptionist to translate.

"Uh, His Royal Highness is curious. You are Lt. Colonel Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist?" the lady asked.

Edward took a bite of bread and chewed loudly, "Yeah, what about it?"

"His Royal Highness would be interested in an alchemy demonstration," she said, "Can you turn the chair into gold for him?"

"No. You cannot change organic matter into inorganic matter. And you cannot change the basic chemical elements into another element anyway." [see footnote] Edward listened intently as the receptionist tried to explain this to the Prince, which required her to define inorganic and organic. The Prince stamped a foot and crossed his arms.

"Oh well, he is, uh, disappointed by this. Any small demonstration would put him at ease, I assure you," she pleaded.

Edward grimaced that he was being treated like a jester, but then there was Mustang's annoyingly oiled voice in the back of his head whispering, diplomacy.

"Fine," He said, taking off his gloves. At the reveal of his automail, the Prince's eyebrows raised high. Edward clapped his hands and formed a serrated blade from his plating and in one large swoosh, cut a roasted game hen in half. Jean and Maurice jumped in their seats.

"Oh my!" cried a pantry maid.

The Prince smiled wide, "C'est absolument ahurrisant! Vous etes formidable. Merci, merci!" He turned away laughing and headed out the door.

"He has a short attention span," explained Falman.

Ed scrunched his face in disgust and muttered to himself, "I can't believe she can be related to him."

Meanwhile, the two Cretan officers had recovered from their shock and continued to openly discuss the demerits of Amestrians, safe in the belief that the two blue-clad soldiers were none the wiser.

"Hell, Jean, that pipsqueak is a State Alchemist! I can't believe His Majesty allowed him to guard the Princess."

"And so vulgar! My those alchemists do like to show off."

"And look at him, stuffing his face! Don't they know a meal is to be savored and contemplated."

"Amestrians are such barbarians. Horrible table manners."

"Maybe he could transmute his hand into a shovel if he's going to eat like that!"

Another minute more and there would definitely be an international "misunderstanding." Ed abruptly stood up to leave, dropping his now twisted fork and spoon onto the table. Jean and Maurice blinked befuddled at the mutilated utensils.

With his ears burning as if venting steam, Edward ventured towards the formal dining room. Olga stood at attention against the wall opposite the room's entrance, along with several other guards.

"You can wait with me," she said curtly. Edward took a position beside her, irked by the comparison they must've made – the colossus and the ant.

The dessert course didn't start wrapping up until around nine o'clock. You could hear the loud guffaws of the Prince Leopold, telling the death-defying tale of "the crazed alchemist in the kitchen cutting tables in half."

Then the gruff voice of the Prince Regent scorning alchemy as "a pretentious attempt to play god."

At this point, Princess Francesca politely excused herself.

Edward brushed crumbs off his jacket and stood up straighter. A servant held open half the double door, and the Princess walked out regally poised and upright, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She headed toward the stairs without even a glance at him, as if he was part of the wallpaper or a piece of hallway furniture.

Olga followed a step behind Her Royal Highness; Edward followed Olga feeling snubbed.

But he acknowledged the rules of the game they were playing: Just like the letters had been under the radar, so too was their budding friendship (and whatever potential he imagined). Frustration bubbled inside him at all the political and cultural lines and boxes that restricted people's lives.

And as the Princess rose above him on the grand staircase, Edward began to realize what a fool's errand he'd set himself on, tricking himself in all those letters that she was "simply Holly," unwilling to confront the wide gap in their positions and the possibility that he would forever be stuck below, pining at the unattainable.

He began to understand what Hawkeye and Mustang went through; Hawkeye always walking a step behind, incapable of reaching out to the raven-haired man that she admired and adored (and occasionally threatened lovingly with a pistol). Or at least, that's what Edward saw.

If Edward could have a secret friendship with a member of the Cretan royalty, he internally smirked to imagine what happened when Riza and Roy found themselves behind closed doors. And yet, Ed's thought soured, it still made them prisoners of their fantasy, locked by walls of reality.

So Edward Elric had to ask himself, Was it worth it to live a lie to the world if it meant you could experience even a minute of truth? What value did truth have if it had to be wrapped in a lie?

It was as maddening as when he'd first gone in search of the stone, only to discover its ingredients. And yet, the fact that something so legendary had existed at all darkly gave him hope.

Nothing was impossible, right?

Footnote: Regardless of the fact that "transmuting gold" is listed as an alchemy taboo in the series, I'm going with the idea that alchemy is essentially a chemical art, an ability to control and affect the elements, their combinations and structures, but not the ability to change one element into another.

Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter is a bit expository heavy. I promise it is setup for later down the road. Nothing I mention is useless. If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes (in any language) please let me know. Comments welcome! Also, from this point forward I plan to upload a new chapter every Sunday.