April 1915

Desert Area

Tears streaked down Lan Fan's face, body shaking with grief, desperately trying to hold her sobs back. In the year since they'd left Xing Lan Fan had remained steadfast through everything. She'd had the strength to cut off her own arm when he'd refused to leave her behind. Lan Fan remained strong when Fu was cut down on the battlefield, while Ling grappled with his own helplessness. She'd prepared and wrapped Fu's body in a shroud the day they departed Central without tears. But now Ling tugged at the thread of her composure and she was unraveling. Lan Fan pulled her hand away and this time Ling let her. Both hands covering her face she wailed. Do something you fool, Ling told himself. In the nine years he'd known her Ling had never seen Lan Fan in such anguish. He could imagine Greed in the back of his mind, sneering at his inaction. What kind of emperor are you gonna be when you can't even comfort your woman? Ling took the blanket from his shoulders and wrapped it around Lan Fan before pulling her into his arms. He couldn't bring back her beloved grandfather, but he could hold her while she shed tears for him.

Lan Fan couldn't bare for her prince to see her in such a state. If she had her mask at hand maybe it would be enough to ground her. It'd always had a calming effect on her. A mask was all it took to disappear, but they'd put it somewhere for safekeeping. Until they were safely back in Xing with Prince Ling declared the successor to the throne she couldn't allow herself to mourn. It was a distraction when all that mattered was her liege's safety. And yet she couldn't stop the tears. She couldn't suppress the physicality of her grief, nor could she explain how a song hummed under her breath could hold her together, but the mention of it tore her asunder. And then Ling was holding her and it was too much.

She wasn't sure how much time passed until the tears stopped. When they did she was exhausted; head pounding, sinuses swollen, her whole body weighed down with sorrow. With her head against Prince Ling's chest she heard the steady beating of his heart. The fire crackled and everything else was quiet. Lan Fan focused on the rise and fall of Ling's chest as he breathed; the way he smelled of sweat and sand and something entirely him; the security of his arms around her. She committed all this to memory for she couldn't imagine ever being held by him again. Not when he was to become emperor. When she spoke her words were whispered.

"This unworthy one begs your forgiveness, my lord." Though reticent she removed herself from the embrace and bowed her head. "My carelessness has caused you trouble."

"Don't call yourself unworthy."

At the sincerity in his tone she looked at him. There was something in his expression she couldn't place. It twisted at her heart.

"That word could never describe you."

October 1920

Imperial Palace

Xing

"Alphonse Elric has returned to Xing," Ling remarked as he read a report from Shu. In half a decade the man had become one of Ling's most valuable assets. Unbeknownst to but a few he was not simply a skilled blacksmith appointed to the palace, but the emperor's trusted spymaster. Once Shu'd said he kept his ear to the ground. Now Shu had eyes and ears everywhere. Not even Ling knew the full extent of his spy network. He was fairly certain several of his own servants reported back to the man. In his periphery he saw the subtle shift in his bodyguard's posture. Lan Fan stood vigil in the corner of his study. Though the hour was late and the shadows long Ling's bodyguard remained ever watchful. He'd named her commander of the guard without hesitation. Who better than Lan Fan to lead his personal guard detail? Between Lan Fan's protection and Shu's reconnaissance they'd disrupted half a dozen assassination plots.

It was by no means an easy task to bring the fifty families to heel under his rule. Even now there was discontent among many of the more prominent clans. Ling had yet to take any wives and his advisors incessantly needled him about his duty to sire heirs. The previous emperor left behind fifty-four sons and daughters who could usurp him should he perish without establishing his line of succession. He had no intention of continuing the tradition of the fifty wives. Shu knew this well enough if his insinuations were anything to go by. 'Give my best to your lovely bodyguard' indeed. The emperor scanned the rest of the encrypted message then tucked it into a drawer.

"Mei will drag him to court in due time." Tension had worked it's way into his shoulders throughout the day. Ling stood from his desk, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness. "What would you say to a bit of exercise?"

"This one would say the hour is late."

"Yet both of us are awake. When was the last time we sparred? I can't recall," Ling countered.

"It's been some time, your highness."

"Precisely."

Lan Fan waited while Ling changed then proceeded with him to the imperial training hall. It'd been ages since he'd practiced with a partner. Practice weapons lined one wall of the room. Lan Fan stood at attention while he stretched. She kept her gaze just to his left, not quite looking at him. "What do you think? Hand to hand or swordplay?"

"Whatever pleases you, my liege."

Dangerous words, Lady Bodyguard.

"Hand to hand then. Why don't you remove your armor?"

"Emperor-"

"It's a friendly match. No need to be burdened by it. At least take off the mask."

Armor could hardly burden the guard. They both knew it. What he wanted (and oh how he wanted when it came to her) was to see Lan Fan. The person she concealed behind armor and mask and propriety. Since their time in the desert Lan Fan laid bricks of duty, honor, and tradition one by one; Before Ling knew it she'd built a wall between them. Most days she was his silent sentinel. Only speaking when addressed. There were times he almost regretted appointing her commander of the guard. Her position came between them more than he'd ever imagined. Rather than acknowledge the inevitable court gossip she combated it with distance and professionalism. Now she hesitated at his suggestion she remove her mask. Her reservation at war with her desire to obey.

"Not a command," he told her, giving her an out. Ling set to wrapping his wrists. After a moment Lan Fan turned her back to him. Piece by piece she shed her armor. The mask was next to go and finally the cowl. She placed each discarded item against the wall, taking care to set the mask on the folded cloth. When she faced him once more she was impassive. Lan Fan kept her eyes averted in deference. Once she would've been bashful without her mask, but these days even with her face uncovered she hid her emotions. Fu would be proud. There was one thing she couldn't hide.

"Your hair," Ling uttered in surprise. He couldn't help his stare. In all the years he'd known Lan Fan she'd kept it cut just past her shoulders, tied up in a bun with bangs framing her face. The bangs were the same as always, but the rest was cut to chin length and set in a slight wave. Lan Fan was still as stone, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "It's so…"

Short, he thought but didn't say aloud. She was taut as a wire. Ling could see it in the line of her. What brought this on? He circled her and wondered when he'd last seen her with her hair down so to speak. The cut was flattering. It showed off her neck, the angle of her jaw, her near white skin. She looks…

"Modern," Ling concluded. "It's positively Western." Her cheeks were no longer pale pink but bright as poppies. For a moment Lan Fan seemed the timid, easily flustered apprentice and Ling the young master teasing her for sport. Ling closed the distance between them. "What inspired the change?"

"I-" Lan Fan began, faltered. As if she couldn't possibly explain something as simple as a haircut. "Short hair is practical."

Ling raised an eyebrow. He could let her get away with that answer, but decided to push the question. There was more to it he was certain. Lan Fan was always sincere but drawing a genuine response or emotion from her had always been difficult. More so now than ever. As maddening as her evasions were he enjoyed the challenge. It was always worth the reward. "More practical than a topknot?"

"Yes. No. They are practical in equal measure, majesty."

"I see," Ling stated. He clasped his hands behind his back, tilted his head in consideration. Ling cast a glance at the weapon stands. "I've changed my mind. Let's start with the bo." It'd been years since they'd practiced with staffs. Though Ling preferred dao and Lan Fan favored knives Master Fu insisted they become proficient with a variety of weapons. He selected one for himself and tossed another to Lan Fan. She caught it with ease, twirled it with both hands to familiarize herself with the weight then slid into fighting stance. A meter across from her Ling readied himself. He held her gaze for a long moment. No looking away now. Then she was a blur and he was bringing up the bo to block. One deflection then another, but she was swift, halting the third strike a centimeter from his head.

"First strike." She drew back before he could counter. Agile as ever she dodged his strikes, moved in under a sweep of his staff to halt a blow to his chin. Ling took a stuttered step back as she straightened. Like oxygen to embers she was alive in a fight. Lan Fan swept a foot behind her and settled into a defensive stance. "2-0, highness."

He appraised her then took the offense. Five unsuccessful strikes before knock her legs out from under her. She hit the mat with his staff at her throat. "2-1, Lady Bodyguard." He caught a spark of ire in her eyes. Stoked by his strike or the epithet he couldn't be sure. She rolled to her feet and in place of shadow he saw the fire he remembered from their early days. Reminiscent of their first fight in the orchard Lan Fan drove him back with relentless offense. Across the training floor she scorched a path with her ferocity. Running out of ground to give Ling dropped his staff and grabbed Lan Fan's as she lunged. Using her momentum he flipped her over his shoulder onto the mat.

"2-2," he finished speaking and found himself knocked on his ass by his own discarded staff.

"3-2." Lan Fan stood over him, staff at her side, and bowed.

"Finished already, Lady?"

On the staff Lan Fan's hand tightened till her knuckles were white. "This one is not befitting of the title of lady."

"It's never bothered you before."

"It's disingenuous. Only by your grace do I bare the rank of Commander. It wouldn't due to forget one's place."

"Yours or mine, Lan Fan?"