Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist


"You think that's it?"

Alphonse stared at his brother for a heartbeat or two, then turned to scrutinise the colossal volcano belching malevolent black clouds of smoke above the hearth-red glow of its inner furnace, smoke which wreathed the air about a collection of spindly towers and massive, fortressed walls that made up the castle, that sat ensconced upon a towering ledge of rock nestled within the heart of the volcanic mountain. "You seriously think we might be in the wrong place?" he asked, flatly.

"Well…" the older man squinted at the monstrous construction, idly tracing the runic inscriptions on his staff. "It might be a popular look in these parts. Wouldn't want to go storming in with fires ablaze and swords drawn, only to find the lord and lady at supper, jesters aplenty."

"I seriously doubt that that place has 'jesters aplenty', Brother."

"Oh, I dunno, your average dragon probably appreciates a laugh now and again, after a hard day of burning villages and decimating livestock."

Gauntleted hands pressed briefly to closed grey eyes. "Just start working on the flame protection charms, Ed."

Edward flashed his teeth in something that would resemble a smile, had it contained less teeth. "As you wish, Sir Elric."

As his brother dug through one of the packs for one of his many leather-wrapped notebooks, the Knight settled himself down on a handy rock. They had halted at the very edge of the woods, sheltered by a bounteous canopy of leaves, roughly half a day's journey from their destination. The fresh crispness of the air was as yet untainted by the stench of sulphur that must coil about the volcanic fortress. It was incongruous in Alphonse's nose when his nerves were already beginning to spark with the promise of adventure. Their quest was deadly in it seriousness, and yet the Knight couldn't silence the excited voice that skipped through his blood, tripping and weaving in drunken delight at the promise of what was to come.

Ignoring the pirouette of birdsong and muted jangle of Edward's grumbling, Alphonse slipped his sword from its scabbard and ran meticulous eyes over the steel. Edward had charmed it with various properties; the Knight could summon it to his hand with a thought, it could produce flames if he concentrated hard enough (but only for a few brief moments) and once sharpened, it held its edge for an unnaturally long time. The hilt, bound with battered leather and topped by a spherical metal pommel, had belonged to his liege-master, the Knight who had apprenticed him as Squire and trained him in combat and chivalry. The elderly noble had been harsh but fair, possessed of his own infamy as the titular character of many heroic lays, and Alphonse had seen to it that the chimera demon that took his life paid an equivalent price.

This sword had served him well on his many quests. The sigil imprinted into the blade was the very symbol with which Edward signed his name, the Elric family crest, and the weapon carried thoughts of Alphonse's past wherever the present might take him. Plus, it had damn good balance, fitted perfectly to his hand and bore up to the Knight's adventurous life with surprising resilience.

Alphonse drew a whetstone from the drawstring pouch belted about his waist. For a fire-breathing dragon, a little extra preparation might be required.

"Do you think the Princess will be waiting for us?" he asked, abruptly, after a few strokes with the stone.

Edward paused in his mauling of the packs to huff his bangs out of his eyes. "Maybe," he shrugged. "If she hasn't already irritated the dragon so much that it ate her."

"Brother!"

"No, you're right, it wouldn't do that, she'd give it indigestion."

Alphonse jammed his whetstone along the sword's blade with a little more force than was necessary, and his brother sniggered. "Come on, Al, even you have to admit that she's as much of a fire-breath as any dragon."

"I find the Princess entirely charming," came the stiff reply. Alphonse was ever staunch in his loyal defence of his lady. It was his one instance of unreasonable blindness in an otherwise equitable personality.

Edward rolled his eyes. He dragged a final notebook from the bags and settled himself comfortably on the floor to begin casting. "Yeah, 'charming', that's why you dragged me away from the largest collection of magical academia in the whole world and marched me mercilessly across the barbarian plains, through the uninhabitable swamps and through this godforsaken vegetable nest, right to the edge of darkness, just because you find her 'charming'."

"…" Alphonse looked like he wished his helmet was within easy reach. His older brother grinned and lobbed a stone at him, looking inordinately pleased by the clang as it bounced off Alphonse's breastplate.

"Think you might get around to actually telling her how charming she is, after you've slain a dragon for her?"

The Knight sniffed, haughtily, continuing to stroke with the whetstone. "It is perhaps wise to focus on the slaying, before…"

"Oh, fine. But I reserve the right to refer to you as a giant armoured chicken if you don't say anything."

Alphonse bit down hard on the automatic 'next to you, any chicken looks gigantic' response. It wouldn't do for Edward to murder him here, not when he could die a much more noble death in the talons of a mythical beast, but a stone's throw away.


Old stone remembers, and echoes, much more than one would credit. Old stone breathes, resonant with a heartbeat that began before life first coughed and spluttered its way into existence. Old stone mumbles and murmurs to itself, soft-toned and sibilant, rich with the voices of those that surround it.

Edward shivered as cool air caressed his face, testing his reddened skin- the bridge he had formed from the living stone of the volcano had been little protection against the searing fury of the mountain's heat. Crossing the gulf between the mountain's edge and the pinnacle of rock upon which the castle stood had left both he and his brother scalded by currents of furious, heated wind, wind that burned with a touch. The incongruous chill within the walls of the keep was winter-cold by comparison.

The mage paused a moment, lingering in the shadows of the massive, arched doorway. Blackened remains of stone hinges and the skeleton of a huge, rustic mechanism revealed where a huge set of doors had once stood, now reduced to ages-old ash. The main keep, the biggest of the structures that made up the castle, opened first onto a large atrium, larger than a banquet hall, the cavernous ceiling of which was supported by a gallery of round columns, stretching across the space.

At various points about the walls, higher than several tall men standing on each other's shoulders, gaping holes had been punched into the rock that admitted the light, cruel gashes in the keep's defences. Otherwise, regular rectangular windows and cross-shaped arrow-slits allowed illumination. Arches wide enough to admit an entire phalanx of armoured knights on horseback led off at various points into antechambers and corridors, lit by the flickering red light of the volcano's core, a permanent blaze of dull red-orange and ochre-yellow.

At the opposite end of the chamber, a doorway mirroring the entrance led directly onto a huge flight of crumbling steps and, about the hall, human-sized openings showed the beginnings of shadowed, spiralling staircases.

As Alphonse came up behind, his battle-armour echoing clamorous in the vastness of the entrance hall, Edward stepped a little further in, the soft scuff of his boots sounding as loud as the scrape of scale on rock. Gesturing his brother to silence, the mage reached out to brush the craggy surface of the wall with the top of his staff, tracing out a complex, circular symbol of power, and then moved closer to press his cheek to frigid sandstone. He closed his eyes and listened, intently. The sigil glowed, faintly, like the shimmer of moonlight on lakewater.

The ancient, sedentary heartbeat of the crumbling giant snored soft and low at the edge of his magic-sharpened consciousness, and he poked at it cautiously, sending out tendrils of his power to traverse the sleeping veins of rock, following fissures and fault lines until a living ghost of the entire fortressed layout flickered firm in his mind. He grinned, patted the wall in thanks and turned to face his brother.

"Think I got it- I dunno where the Princess is, to much carbon interference to pick up a human heartbeat, but I can make an educated guess."

Alphonse tilted his helmeted head. "Educated?"

"Sod off." Edward wheeled to stare down the dimly-lit emptiness ahead of them. "Ready?"

"To fight a dragon and save a Princess? Always."


It might be wise, at this point, to break away from the infiltration of a dragon's jealously-guarded domain by two brave adventurers, and consider the exact purpose of their quest.

It began, as all days begin, with a simple sunrise.

Sunrise, a bright red blasphemy fading primrose pink and powder blue across a hazy morning sky. Sunrise, a bright red hallelujah softening to a pale and pleasant psalm, the harsh yellow of midday momentarily ensnared beneath the candle-flicker delicacy of dawn light. Sunrise, an awakening, a calling to arms, a bright red trumpet-blast across the sky, with a nation's wailing as its accompaniment.

"The Princess! The Princess is taken!"

The disappearance of a county's beloved, a figure in which they took pride and hope, snatched away with nary a whisper, the only trace a lingering scent of burning wood and smoke.

It's a story that everyone knows, everyone hears it somewhere along the way, even if the dragon is a demon, or the princess is a pauper. A young girl, snatched for her nobility, her beauty, locked away by a vicious beast for reasons untold. Perhaps simply to keep that age-old story alive. Stories are more important than mere chemical facts, it is stories that children remember, the once upon a time and the long long ago, so perhaps the ghouls and goblins feel it is their duty in life to snarl and snatch, and behave exactly as legend tells them, that humanity might retain its collective sanity, and not peer too closely at the true, deep darkness that shrouds the universe.

So, a princess is captured from her fair home, born away to the domain of a fire-breathing beast, held prisoner in his castle until a Knight so bold as to rescue her (and patient enough to bring his Magely brother) might appear, sword in hand, to face the creature.

And yet, for such a large and fearsome creature, it had left no trace of its coming- no village shivered in its passing shadow, no slumberous palace guard sounded the alarm, no wizard's wards against invasion activated…yet, by whatever means or method, the Dragon had its Princess and two heroes had their quest.


"Are you sure this is the right staircase?"

"I'm insulted by your lack of faith, little brother."

"Well, this is the eighteenth flight of stairs we've tried, you know. I hate to cast aspersions on your wizardly intuition, but I AM wearing approximately my own weight in metal plates…"

"Don't be a baby."

"A ba- I'm a Knight of the realm!"

"Well then, don't be a chivalrous baby."

Alphonse spluttered his indignation. Edward, whose attention was entirely focused on projecting his senses ahead of them, didn't appear to notice. The Knight reflected that it might have been wiser to bring Kitty with him in place of his brother, rather than leaving her picketed at the base of the mountain; she would definitely have cast less aspersions against his Knightly honour.

A white-gloved hand waving frantically distracted him from his inner musings. Alphonse halted, his hand tightening on his sword hilt, and looked to his brother, automatically assuming a fighter's stance. Edward's shoulders were hunched, his staff held quivering before him, his head tilted, like a cat's as it followed the invisible movements of a mouse. "It's here," he murmured, softly.

With those two words, the faceless grey walls suddenly seemed to loom over them, bitter and watchful sentries, shadowed guardians of the dragon's halls. The shadowed hollows and alcoves, even the pitiful puddles of darkness about the edges of the stairwell became alive with threat, menacing in their mystery, thick and deep with danger.

"Where is it?" Alphonse muttered back, stepping up to draw level with his brother.

The dim glow emanating from the Mage's staff sputtered and then grew brighter, illuminating, in the distance, a landing, from which the staircase continued to climb, off to the left, and flattened out in another corridor, on the right. "I don't know which one," came the tense reply.

The Knight drew in a deep breath, his armour clinking as he forced his muscles to relax. "We cannot face it until we've found the Princess," he stated, firmly. "And neither of us can face it alone…"

Edward's brow furrowed, as if he wanted to protest that second statement.

"You know I'm right, Brother. You might be the Fullmetal Mage but a dragon would have no difficulty melting you down to a half-metal snack."

The Mage growled. "We can't keep creeping around like this," he said, his voice low and fierce, "it's getting us nowhere- the main keep alone is big enough to keep us searching for a month."

"Agreed- but splitting up leaves each of us more vulnerable to attack."

Edward nodded, his golden eyes pensive. "Perhaps an alarm spell?" he suggested. "If I trigger it to signal me if you draw your sword? If the Dragon finds me first, I can alert you easily enough, I can always find your mind wherever you are."

Alphonse frowned beneath his visor. "I don't like it, Brother."

"Neither do I, but we're here to rescue the Princess, not wander around the castle until we become greybearded buffoons."

As if to compound the older brother's argument, a deep susurration of sound whispered about them, reverberating as it grew louder, the low rumble of a gigantic beast, stirring, awakening. Alphonse felt his skin prickle, his battle-instincts tightening his muscles, and looked ahead, up the stairs, to scrutinise the apparently-innocuous choice of passages.

"I'll go up," he stated, firmly. "You take the other corridor. At the first sign of trouble…"

"Yes. I know." Edward gave him a brief nod, then sank into a crouch by his side, muttering an incantation as he traced a symbol on the scabbard of his brother's sword. Alphonse felt the tingly warmth of a magical reaction, even through his armour, and reached down to help the Mage to his feet.

The two brothers met each other's gaze, measured and confident, as they clasped hands in the empty hallway of a dragon's keep. Alphonse pushed his visor back with his free hand, and stared at Edward, his eyes travelling over the oft-traversed plains of his brother's face, impressing every feature of it onto his mind. "Stay safe," he said, softly.

Edward appraised him a moment longer, then cracked a grin. "You too, little brother."

Then, with a cocky wink, he released his hand from Alphonse's grip and sauntered jauntily up the stairs, hefting his staff before him.

Watching the red-robed back disappear out of sight, Alphonse felt a tiny pulse of fear quicken inside him, then blinked as he came to a realisation- Edward had taken with him the faint glow of his staff, that had been illuminating the way, so how could the Knight still see? He looked down at his own waist, and grinned himself to see one of his belt pouches glimmering with enchanted light. "A simple torch would have sufficed," he remarked to himself, wryly, then drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs, his senses alert.

They were separated in the heart of the beast's den. It would be wise to complete their duties with as much haste as possible.


It wasn't long before the corridor began to wind down, twisting like a spiral staircase, but without the steps. Edward had dimmed his light source once the floor began to drop away, fearing a trap, but the unusual structure simply carried on ahead of him, as if it was normal for castles to have floors constructed at an angle.

The Mage spared a little attention to examine the stone as he walked, his bulky leather boots providing much needed traction on a floor that was treacherous, slippery with damp. This part of the keep could have been fashioned with magic, that would explain the unnatural smoothness of the walls and floor, but with what purpose? And who could have made such a thing? It was puzzling.

He hoped Alphonse was having better luck than he was. He could ignore the high-pitched voice of his worry, he'd suppressed it for so long that ignoring it was second nature, and he was confident of his brother's ability in combat and in cunning, and yet…his hand tightened on his staff. Adventure was a thrill he sorely missed in the city, but he also knew all too well the truth of the old adage about curiosity and cats.

Little by little, the adventurer became aware of a paradoxical freshening of the air as he descended, quickening about him like Spring, somehow more wholesome than the dank atmosphere further within the castle. He hurried his steps, eagerly, as the promise of daylight fluttered around the corners ahead of him- an exit meant access to the other buildings of the mountain fortress, access to what had looked from the outside to be a sizable courtyard- it would be a more suitable battleground than the dark, musty halls, a place where they might successfully lay an ambush...

Such was his fervency, Edward failed to notice the increasing damage to the keep's structure, the crumbling stone that littered the floor, the gaping holes like bitemarks in the walls, the occasional scrap of rusted, dented armour, the morbid, gleaming white of bone…

As he stepped through yet another massive archway, into a courtyard enclosed by teetering towers and the rough-hewn, monolithic castle walls, the dust stirred beneath his feet, the ground rumbled. The keep groaned, almost at the edge of his hearing, and, from deep within, he heard the rhythmic, unmistakable war-drum thuds of a behemoth's approach.


Alphonse cursed the inventor of the spiral staircase as he climbed and climbed, the pathway narrowing, the cramped circle of steps becoming tighter and tighter as the passageway wound up and up and up…He was climbing higher than the castle walls, or so it felt- climbing one of the spires that peeked precariously out over the top of the crenulated fortifications. That made sense- there was a tradition, in these things, about Princesses and towers…he only hoped he had the right one.

Just as he eyes were starting to swim with dizziness, the staircase, now tiny enough that the Knight was forced to hunch over awkwardly of strike his head on the stone ceiling, ended at a simple wooden door. Alphonse paused a moment to steady his breaths- truly, full combat armour was not the correct attire for Princess-rescuing, no matter what the tales said- then, steeling his nerves, he knocked at the door.

Nothing stirred within. He knocked again, a little louder, and heard, just faintly, the merest suggestion of movement from behind the door.

"My lady?" he called, hope swelling huge and suffocating in his throat, "Lady Winry? It is I, Alphonse of Elric. Your Champion."

There came a clatter, as of metal on stone, and he wrenched open the door, fearing the worst…only to see, at last, his Princess, whole and undamaged.

The garish midday sun, tamed by gossamer drapes at the triangular windows, bathed her in a honeyed glow, lighting her pale skin, bringing forth the gold in her long blond tresses. Her skin, ever-pale, appeared as winter's first snowfall, pure and beautiful, untouched, untainted. Her hands, long-fingered and clever, hung trembling at her sides, a fine match to the shock scrawled across her face. She was clad in pale green, lovely as a woodland sprite, and his heart ached in his chest to behold her.

Truly, he had forgotten how poor a mirror the sky was to the rich, sea-change swell of her eyes.

He fell to his knees, ungainly beneath the weight of his armour and her gaze. He lowered his head, bowing in helpless awe before her. He had broken the backs of monsters, slain demons, braved the darkest depths, the murkiest swamps…and under that blue-eyed scrutiny, he was again a shy child with muddy knees and a split lip.

Her step, delicate soft-shod hush of her silken slippers against the freezing floor. He was trembling, the tinny clatter giving him away, scrape of chainmail on plate metal…the pale pastel hem of her dress, swaying like a daisy in the breeze into his line of vision…he couldn't breathe…

"Arise, Sir Elric."

The clarity of a laughing stream bounced through her voice, summer flowers and the light chuckling laughter of birdsong, the freshness of Spring grass, the smell after rain…He stood, clambering slowly to his feet as if in a dream, his limbs weighed with treacle…he lifted his helmeted head to meet her eyes…and staggered sideways as she smashed him in the face with a wrench.

"Call yourself my champion? You took your damn time about getting here! Months, I've been stuck here, months, left to pine away in a tower like some sort of…some sort of…girl!" The Princess snarled, his lips drawn back from her teeth in rage.

Alphonse stared at her, visor now thrown back from his face, and she softened, sudden as summer lightening, and took the Knight's gauntleted and to press it to her cheek. "How I have missed you, my guardian," she said, her tone gentled once more, rich with joy and relief.

"Princess Winry…" His own voice shook, and he placed his hand over hers, as carefully as he could, fearful of hurting her with the sheer force of the emotion swelling within him.

"Alphonse…"

Before either of them could say anything more, the entire tower shook with a sudden impact, and an enraged, bestial scream rent the air. Simultaneously, Alphonse's head exploded with white noise, and the unmistakable screech of his brother's mingled fear and anger. The Knight dropped the Princess' hand and grabbed for his sword, running to the window to stare down at the courtyard at the sight of…

His brother, a tiny spot of whirling red and black and Mage's staff bursting with energy, facing down a colossus of fang and scale, a gigantic creature torn from nightmare, uncoiling itself from it's prone position where Edward's magic had thrown it. A second roar rent the air, and Alphonse screamed his own terror as the Dragon- at last, the Dragon- launched itself at his older brother…