April 1915

Desert Area

"Maybe it's sunstroke," Mei Chang whispered, twisting in the saddle to look up at Ling. The prince frowned, not taking his eyes off Lan Fan. The half-siblings rode together with the bodyguard guiding their way across the great desert. A third horse tied to Lan Fan's by a length of rope carried Fu's body. Three days ago they'd reached the edge of the Amestrian frontier. The little Chang princess negotiated supplies and horses for the journey. Her connections in Youswell proved useful in this endeavor. Since they'd begun their trek across the barren expanse Lan Fan hadn't spoken a word. She hardly slept, only eating and drinking at the insistence of her liege. Now she was humming. Every so often the humming would evolve into half sung phrases under her breath-words they couldn't quite catch. It was troubling more than her silence.

"Lan Fan," Ling called out. She continued to hum without any acknowledgement.

"I think we should stop," Mei worried and held Xiao-Mei close for comfort.

"Lan Fan," He affected a commanding tone.

When she still didn't answer he urged his horse into a canter to catch up. He reached out, placing a hand on her left shoulder without thought. "Guardsman Liu!"

"Ah!" Lan Fan cried out in pain; Ling pulled his hand back. He knew she was still favoring her shoulder, but it'd been days since she'd discarded her sling.

"You're still injured," his tone was harsher than he intended, but perhaps not harsh enough under the circumstances. Ling grabbed her reins, looking around for somewhere with a modicum of shade. He spotted an outcrop of rock and led their horses to it. Quickly he dismounted, helping Mei down before lifting Lan Fan from her saddle. She was a ragdoll in his arms. Too delirious to protest. The prince cursed under his breath as he laid her in the shade. Mei felt her forehead while Ling removed her armor.

"She's burning up!" Mei exclaimed then set about removing Lan Fan's shirt for a proper look at her wound. The automail arm itself was in excellent shape, but the port to which it was connected was another matter. Around the port the skin was red and swollen with signs of infection. Mei went back to the horses.

"Lan Fan, look at me," Ling pressed his hand to her cheek and leaned closer. Her eyes were unfocused.

"Out of the way, Yao!" Mei shoved Ling aside and set down their canteens. Xiao-Mei growled at him. "We have to bring down her fever." With no time to waste Mei tugged off Lan Fan's shoes then stripped her down to her chest bindings and undergarments. The alkehestrist took a handkerchief from her pocket, soaked it in water, and laid it across Lan Fan's forehead. She took out her blades and plunged them into the ground around her patient's shoulder. Lan Fan screamed when Mei activated her array then passed out. When the transmutation finished the skin was less inflamed, red lines of infection receded though not gone.

"Will she be all right?"

"If the fever doesn't cook her brain, if she doesn't get septicemia! She needs antibiotics, intravenous fluid, things we don't have!" The princess was beginning to panic, she was about to cry. Ling took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. He needed her calm, because she was the only one who could do anything for Lan Fan besides make her comfortable.

"Get a hold of yourself, Chang. We're at least another two days from the border, maybe three. We can't dwell on what we don't have. Think of what we do have that can help. We have you, " Ling loosened his hold on his sister. Mei took a deep breath to calm herself. After a moment her eyes widened in realization, she laughed at the obvious.

"We have a philosopher's stone."

The crackling of fire woke Lan Fan hours later. Her throat was dry, head aching from sleeping too hard, but the pain in her shoulder was gone. Around her the air was cool, but she was warm under a blanket. Someone held her hand. Grandfather, she thought. No, grandfather is dead. Whoever it was their hand was rough and warm and maybe if she just kept her eyes closed she could pretend. If only for a moment more. When she finally opened her eyes it was Ling's face she saw. He looked pensive and weary. Prince Ling is holding my hand. He glanced at her face when he heard her breath catch.

"You're awake," he whispered. "Why didn't tell us your shoulder wasn't healing properly? You could've died. You would've died if not for Mei. What were you thinking?" He was angry. Lan Fan couldn't think of anything at all with him holding her hand.

"My lord-" she began scratchily.

"Would you have me bury you both?" Ling raised his voice, he'd never raised his voice to her. Not like this. She sat up and clutched the blanket to her chest.

"No, I…" she looked away. On the other side of the campfire Mei Chang was pretending to be fast asleep. Lan Fan saw through her ruse. Mei was too quiet. Doesn't she know she snores?

"Look at me." It was a command. She would have obeyed if not for the tears brimming in her eyes. If she looked at him she would fall apart. Lan Fan tried to pull her hand away, and he trapped it between both his own. "Lan Fan, please look at me."

She shook her head, "I cannot, my lord."

"Why not?" his voice was softer this time. It made it worse. She wished he'd keep shouting.

"If I look at you I'll cry." Anger she could weather like a ship in a storm. Compassion would sink her. Ling stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist.

"Would that be so bad?"

"If I start crying I fear I'll never stop." Shadow fell over her face as Ling lifted a hand to her cheek. He turned her face toward his; Lan Fan kept her eyes on their intertwined hands.

"You were singing. I've never heard you sing. It was the same song again and again. Where did you hear it?"

Lan Fan looked at him and was undone.

Fall 1914 - Spring 1915

Central City, Amestris

For six months Lan Fan and Fu remained in hiding. Six long months of automail surgery and rehabilitation on an accelerated timeline. Lan Fan's automail engineer was a woman named Margot Fontaine who promptly declared her patient completely insane. "Six months? It can't be done. You're crazy," she'd said around her cigarette. The black market operation was run out of the cellar of a nightclub. She had hair as bright as copper and eyes the color of freshly cut grass. Fontaine was dressed in a pinstripe pencil skirt and a green blouse with the sleeves rolled back. She was the epitome of curvaceous. On her feet she wore expensive looking white heels that could crush an instep with ease. Lan Fan thought she was the most beautiful woman she'd ever laid eyes on. Then Lan Fan saw the nightclub's owner and resident cabaret singer, Madeleine Rousseau. She was just as beautiful as Fontaine with blonde hair instead of red, but it was her charm that made all the difference. Or maybe it was the accent. When Fontaine refused the job, Rousseau-who'd been eavesdropping the entire time-joined them at the corner table.

"Perhaps it is you who cannot do it in six months," she took Fontaine's cigarette for her own, winked at Lan Fan, then rested her hand on Fontaine's knee, "Look at her. There is a fire, no?"

"Tsk, there is no job I can't handle." Fontaine colored and snatched back her cigarette. She contemplated, savoring the last drag, and fixed Fu with a hard stare. "I will do it. But do not blame me when your girl is retching blood."

Fu paid Fontaine's exorbitant fee and they set to work.

There was blood and retching and agony to rival cutting off her own arm. Pain worse than Dr. Knox debriding her bloody stump without anesthetic. But there was also music that held back the madness. Fontaine worked mostly at night when the din of the nightclub was enough to cover Lan Fan's muffled screams. Fu was there through the procedures, holding her hand when the suffering was too great. When the pain and antibiotics turned her stomach he was there to hold her hair back. Often, after the club closed down and the last drunkard was shown the door, Madeleine would join them in the cellar. She'd wipe Lan Fan's fevered brow and sing. Long past when Fu and Fontaine retired to bed Madeleine would serenade her through the pain.

"You don't have to stay. You must be tired," Lan Fan would say and Madeleine would click her tongue.

"We live in the shadows, do we not? We are creatures of the dark. In the light of day you are sleeping. If I am to see your spark burning bright then I must come here at night, no?"

Lan Fan was enchanted with the songstress. As Fontaine engineered the bodyguard's new arm Madeleine would drink coffee with Fu and Lan Fan. There was more to coffee than Lan Fan ever imagined. Madeleine introduced her espresso. She acquired a taste of it, but a light roast with cream suited her palate best. The singer could chat for hours and Lan Fan was content to listen. The bickering between Madeleine and Margot reminded her of Edward Elric and the Rockbell girl. One morning she walked in on the two of them. Margot half turned in her seat at the workbench; Madeleine whispering sweet nothings in a foreign tongue between kisses. Lan Fan snuck back to her cot before they noticed her presence, and kept this knowledge to herself. It was no one's business but their own.

"You have a beau?" Madeleine asked casually one evening. They were embroidering by lamplight. It would help with her dexterity, or so Margot said. A dozen or so needles broke between her metal fingers before she got the hang of the delicate task. Ten years Lan Fan had dodged her mother's attempts to teach her embroidery. She wondered if Suyin would laugh or cry when she told her.

"Beau?"

"A boy. Someone special. One that makes your heart pitter patter."

"Special…?" Lan Fan stuck herself with the needle. She cursed while Madeleine tittered. Of course there was someone special. Ling Yao was everything to her. More than her liege, more than a childhood companion. There wasn't a word in Amestrian or Xingese that could encompass what Ling meant to Lan Fan. Fu once said she was born to protect the Yao clan, but that wasn't the truth of it. She was born to protect Prince Ling. Now more than ever she was certain of that fact. As certain as she was of her place in this world. In the shadows.

"Stop teasing the girl, Maddy," chided Margot from her workbench. Lan Fan's automail was nearly finished, and she was eager to swap the temporary prosthetic for the real deal.

"There is… but not in the way you think."

"Hm, if you say then it must be so."

Two days before the events of the promised day Margot Fontaine declared Lan Fan's rehabilitation complete.

"I've done all I can. The rest as they say is up to you," Margot said. She lit a cigarette and fussed with her tools.

"Margot, darling, are you crying?" Madeleine inquired.

"Don't speak such foolishness. It's the smoke in my eyes. That is all."

Madeleine embraced Lan Fan, being careful of her automail. Minutes passed before she let go, but only to cup Lan Fan's face. "You must see me perform tonight," Madeleine kissed her cheek then the other, "A special song I will sing for you. This song you must hear before you leave me forever, my heart."

One pleading look to her grandfather was all it took. Lan Fan had seen the club during the day often enough, but at night it was something else. The lighting, the cigarette smoke, couples dancing and huddled at small tables. Laughter, glasses clinking, the constant murmur of the crowd. The space was transformed by all these things and more. And to see Madeleine Rousseau in all her finery, illuminated beneath the stage lights-she would never forget. The first few songs of the evening were familiar favorites. After all this time Lan Fan knew them by heart. She and Fu sat at the table in the corner where Madeleine had convinced Margot to work a miracle. Before the fifth song the lights dimmed.

"Today, I am full of sorrow. The daughter of my heart is leaving. It is my dearest wish that she carry this song wherever she may go. May she share it with the one she cherishes…"

Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

"Lan Fan," Fu stood.

"Master Fu, please, can't we stay?" Desperate to hear the rest of the song, she couldn't bare to leave now. Not before it was over. Fu held out his hand to his granddaughter and nodded his head toward the dance floor. Lan Fan blinked, confused, then took his offered hand.

When you kiss me heaven sighs
And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

In six months Margot gave her back the ability to fight; Madeleine taught her to love music; and in one song Fu taught her to dance.