Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist
"You have been in the library for three days?"
"Erm."
Edward shuffled his feet under the Dragon's perturbed gaze. He had swum up from a deep trance within the castle's ink-and-paper haven only when an irritated roar of his name had registered over the babbling chatter of the books. Running through the corridors, it had occurred to him that he was ravenous with hunger, dizzy with tiredness, and his clothes felt vaguely musty and sticky.
Standing before the Dragon now, the Mage felt like he should perhaps have warned his host of the dangers of an Elric in a library.
Roy shook his head, peering down at Edward from his great height with an air of alarmed confusion. "What a strange creature you are," he mused, unaware of the Mage's corresponding thought about the Dragon. "No matter, I have a task for you. It is time to replenish the larders, come along."
Edward hurried to catch up with Roy, already consumed with curiosity. How, exactly, could he help with such a task?
It was with no small trepidation that Edward eyed the rickety rope bridge.
"That bears human weight?" he asked, dubiously, his fingertips itching to inscribe his failsafe 'stone bridge' runes.
The Dragon seemed amused. "It bore the Princess's weight with no difficulty, and I am quite sure that the amount of wrenches she carries with her equals that of your metal limbs."
Edward's lips twitched against his will. "But I have to carry a half moon's worth of supplies across it afterwards?"
"That, or starve."
"…You're too entertained by tormenting me to let me fall and die, right?"
Scaly shoulders rose and fell in a lazy shrug. Edward glared at the beast. "My thanks, generous host," he growled.
"I accept them with honour," came the reply, entirely devoid of any irony.
The Mage snorted and scrutinised the bridge once more. It was no small wonder that he and Alphonse has not seen it- it had been constructed (and Edward used that term in loosest possible sense) on the eastward-facing side of the castle, leading to a hidden trail on the opposite side that, Roy had informed him, ran a meandering path down the volcanic mountain's east face, craggier than the west but with a well-worn path wide enough to admit a decent-sized wagon, provided a sturdy enough pony could be found to pull it.
He wished he'd known about it before he and his brother had made the agonising climb up the western side. He still had bruises from the ascent.
He could feel the weight of the Dragon's eyes watching him, an inexplicable and inscrutable gaze that sought, as his own did, to catalogue and categorise every movement of the other. His captor was as fascinated by him as he was by it. He squared his shoulders, the burning brand of his pride refusing to dim and humble itself.
"It's a lovely bridge," he said, firmly. "Were I a poet, I would marvel at how its fragility represents something of the contingence of human existence and the delicacy of the human soul, poised, as it is, over the fiery threshold of certain annihilation. However," and he began to sketch out sigils in the dirt with the end of his staff, "I am not a damn poet, I am a Mage, and I am not risking my skin simply to enjoy the fulfilment of a metaphor."
Edward slammed his staff hard into the ground, striking the centre of his circular set of symbols, and concentrated. The magical array glowed, a faint blue shimmer in the air, and he felt the latent magic of the land, resting dormant in every rock, respond quietly, willingly, to the spark of magical energy that unfurled deep inside the human. Magic was a natural force, inert inside every aspect of nature, and a Mage's training simply allowed him or her to access that power, first finding it within themselves, and then using that pulse, the heartbeat of the world, to manipulate the universe around them.
He could feel his lips stretch into a grin as the slow, grumbling rock of the mountain dragged itself up by his urging, stretching out across the gap between the volcano's rim and the massive pinnacle on which the castle rested. Reshaping what lay at his feet was one of his favourite magical past-times- feeling how pliant and versatile the most obstinate of natural materials could be- the simple yet overwhelmingly strong will of rock, forged and formed over thousands of years, held no advantage against the steel and iron of the Fullmetal's resolve.
When the bridge was completed, a stark and sturdy contrast to the twine-and-spit contraption that neighboured it, Edward glanced up at the Dragon with a grin. The serpentine face was still for a moment, then lips drew back from glittering fangs in a reptilian smirk.
"Impressive," Roy remarked, stepping in two giant strides to the precipice to closer inspect the newly-formed promontory. Edward preened unashamedly. The smoothness of the simple construction gave it an unnatural appearance; Edward's skills were advanced enough that not even the telltale patterning of magical workmanship were visible.
A bridge without a keystone- Edward wondered what symbolism a poet might read into that.
Regardless, the Dragon seemed genuinely intrigued by the structure. The large black snout was lowered to it, sniffing at the stone, stretching out along the bridge as far as the long, sinuous neck would allow. He even rested a paw on it, scratching lightly at the rock with hooked talons and cautiously testing its strength with his not-inconsiderable weight.
Edward wondered, briefly, if he could make a bridge strong enough to bear the Dragon, startling himself with the thought- what would be the point of such a thing?
"Your appointment awaits you, mageling," came the dry reminder, startling Edward from his thoughts. The Mage glanced at the Dragon, who was inclining his head towards the bridge in a mocking bow. "If you are too late, I fear the fellow will simply disappear, never to be seen again, and then it would be a fine pickle for the both of us."
"You know," Edward remarked, stepping to the bridge and determinedly not looking down as he began his crossing, "it would be so terribly easy for me to escape, at this point."
"And yet, you will not. We have an agreement, Quicksilver wizard, and a Mage's word is as difficult to break as a tax collector's heart."
The Mage snorted, irritated by the Dragon's omniscience.
So much of magical practice was a devotion of oneself to words, to the precise craft of language, that one became inexplicably tied to the truth within truths. So many countless hours weaving miracles from mere syllables left Mages chained to their language, at once imprisoned and liberated, so that it was unsurprising that they should garner a reputation for riddling and speaking in circles. It was a necessary fundament of a Mage's life to choose his words as carefully as a Knight chooses his weaponry- it would take but a single rash sentence to bind one to any kind of fate.
And, typically, Edward had been made prisoner of the one legendary beast that might know and exploit such a fact. Life was, indeed, a trying affair. Bloody Dragons.
The vicious caress of the volcano's heat seared into the Mage's skin, and he was not yet halfway across when he was obliged to halt, trace out a circle about himself with his staff, and activate fire-protection spells. He had no desire to become roasted by a mere mountain, that was an appallingly commonplace death for one such as he. If he was to die in flame, then it had better be from a Dragon's maw or a Sorcerer's staff.
With a sigh of relief, Edward completed his perilous journey across the bridge and stepped down onto the mountain's outer surface for the first time since the day he entered the castle with his brother.
Alphonse…
Distractedly, Edward glanced back along his bridge to see the Dragon, curling into an already-familiar catlike coil. The beast had his snout rested on his tailtip, and his pearly eyes were firmly fixed on the Mage, startling in their scrutiny. The haze of heat rising from the lava between them granted Roy an ethereal quality that was somehow fitting to his mythical, elusive, illusory nature. Shifting air, the flickering, dreamlike miasma of vapours rising from the mountain's core thoroughly blurred Edward's vision, making him hesitate to look away lest the Dragon finally be proved to be hallucination, the product of his vast intellect and limitless imagination.
As he stared, Edward absently put out his staff to lean upon it. Caught in loose shale, the tip dug into the ground, and instantly began to slip, sliding out from underneath Edward with a swiftness not unlike the speed of a striking python.
His arms flailing madly, Edward yelped as the world swung alarming about him for a moment, then righted itself as he regained his balance. Coming back to himself, his legs splayed awkwardly, his arms thrown out and his robes in disarray, the Mage blow hair out his face with an irritable scowl. Nope, not even his subconscious would be so cruel as to create such an undignified humiliation.
He had the distinct impression that, should he look up, his host would be wearing one of his insufferable draconic smirks. Edward huffed, straightened himself out, and spun on his heels to march imperiously down the path. Dignity and restraint, he had dignity and restraint, he absolutely would not launch into a screaming fit and melt the treacherous rock into oblivion. He was pretty sure he could make stone evaporate, if he concentrated hard enough. Perhaps another time.
As the Dragon had said, some distance down the winding, treacherous path, a battered cart stood idle. A scruffy pony in sagging traces munched happily inside a nosebag, seemingly at ease with the looming menace of the volcano, shifting its shaggy-fetlocked hooves periodically. An equally scruffy man, obviously the pony's driver, was perched on a rock nearby, a pipe dangling between crooked yellow teeth, and a wide, insolent grin decorating his face. He had his thumbs tucked into the tiny pockets of his coarse waistcoat, and he hopped off the rock as Edward approached, removing his wide-brimmed hat.
Edward halted a couple of feet away and presented his staff, inclining his head with as much courtesy as he could manage. "Afternoon," he greeted the man.
The man's grin widened, becoming a positive leer, and he eyed Edward up and down. "You're a funny-lookin' Princess," he smirked, "Lost your tiara, mistress?"
Pure shock held the rage in check. Edward's mouth dropped, as did his arm, the staff slumping back to his side. He stared, uncomprehending, at his new acquaintance.
"Now then, your Highness, no need to be shy, let's hear those dulcet tones of yours," the driver chortled, his pipe jumping with every merry word.
The Mage's hair stood on end as white-hot fury burst into life in Edward's veins. The blond hunched and raised his staff, the tip glowing red, his free hand lifting and clenching into what the magic textbooks referred to as 'the Casting Claw'. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE LOOKS LIKE A TINY LITTLE GIRL IN PIGTAILS?" the Mage howled, loud enough to mage the loose rocks rumble ominously.
Unperturbed, the other man placed his hands on his hips. "Dulcet isn't quite the right word, I see. If you're not a Princess, who are you?"
Assuming his very best haughty demeanour, Edward drew himself up, still brandishing his glowing staff, and peered down his nose at the scruffy, grinning wagon-driver. "I am a Mage of the Quicksilver Order," he declared, ice crystallizing hard and frigid in his tone, the very words clattering to the ground before him like a dropped gauntlet. "I have taken residence with the Dragon to further my research on magical beasts."
"Which is why you're doing his fetching and carrying, yes?"
Edward's eyes narrowed. "I'm not such a White Mage that I won't turn you into a beetle," he scowled, menacingly.
"Right you are, master," came the cheery reply, and the driver nodded, as if pleased by Edward's returning banter, then turned his attention to the content of the cart. Under Edward's still-seething gaze, a variety of bundles, each wrapped in brown paper and string, made their way to the ground at the Mage's feet. A couple of the packages were large enough to equal the size of a cow, leaving Edward little room to mistake the nature of their contents.
Once his task was complete, the driver unbuckled the nosebag from the pony's head, earning himself a disgruntled snort, and hopped up onto the driver's seat of the cart. He tipped a wink in Edward's direction, earning himself a second disgruntled, and undignified, snort, and clicked his tongue, slapping the reins against the pony's back to get it lumbering forwards.
As the battered ensemble swayed slowly out of sight, Edward had to restrain himself from turning the cart into a sledge to see how smug its infuriating driver would be after a much more harrowing descent down the mountainside. Turning his attention to the pile of goods, he considered them for a moment, calculating their rough mass and size, and then knelt to sketch out some symbols in the dirt with his dagger. Activating them with a touch of his hands and a concentration of his will, he forcibly levitated the items into the air, hoping he wouldn't run out of energy halfway across the bridge and dump them into the lava, and made his way back up the mountain.
When he reached the castle's shadow once again, and set down the bundles before the waiting Dragon, Edward was gratified to see a light of respect in the creature's eyes.
"I am impressed," Roy said, inspecting the pile of packages. "Such a load would have taken the Princess a good few hours to transport."
"I'm no Princess," the Mage grinned, then flumped down to sit next to the pile, wiping sweat from his brow. "Tiring work, though," he added, when Roy gave him an odd look.
The Dragon clambered to his feet. It was a fascinating process, each curving coil of his body appearing to move entirely independently as he uncoiled himself and rose smoothly upwards. Something of such great size should take more effort resisting gravity, Edward mused, entranced by the sleek flow of muscle under scaly hide.
Once up, Roy stretched. "When you are recovered, I pray you will not leave these items to spoil in the sun," he said, with a casual, dismissive air. "Good luck with the completion of your task."
As he stalked away, Edward just stared after him. He couldn't quite believe his ears; he had to fetch the goods, deal with rude bastard wagon drivers and stock the food in the castle? He was the Fullmetal Mage, not a goddamn porter!
Edward flopped onto his back and groaned. Stars, but Dragons were lazy bloody creatures. As soon as he was done, he was going back to the library, and he want coming out for a week. But first, he should probably change his clothes.
When asked, the Dragon waved a dismissive claw and shrugged emphatically; an easy task when one possesses an enormous pair of wings, and said, "Of course you may take what you wish. I doubt their ability to look fetching on me no matter how finely stitched they are."
Thus, ears burning, Edward began his exploration of the myriad of wardrobes and dressers that populated the various bedrooms. Much of what he found, to his vague disgust, had been consumed by moths or damp, and sat rotten and stinking in their drawers. The Mage was quick to toss the worst offenders out of the window and into the courtyard, with a view to asking Roy to practice his flame upon them as soon as was convenient.
Of the serviceable garments, the Mage was hugely relieved to find a vast array of usable undergarments. He was less impressed by the large selection of gowns and dresses- admittedly, being under a Dragon's care was more traditionally in the female experience, but there were not enough women in existence to validate the sheer number of silken apparel and velvet trappings that suffocated the less fortunate wardrobes. Furthermore, any male clothing that he did happen to stumble across was, more often than not, too…long to fit him adequately. The castle had apparently been peopled by a race of giants before the Dragon took it.
After several frustrating hours, the Mage paused in his labours, rubbing at the soreness in his lower back, and collated his findings. One of the rooms had been particularly generous in its contribution, providing him with a veritable heap of simple breeches, shirts and tunics, all in black. He'd even found some chunky black boots to replace his travel-worn pair, and several pairs of embroidered slippers to wear inside the castle. Moreover, he'd come across of trove of white gloves, most of which would need adjusting to fit, but since he tended to go through gloves at a rate of knots, he had few complaints.
His best find, however, was a (to him) rather stunning scarlet overcoat, painstakingly stitched with arcane runes, that fitted him as if he'd had it tailored. It was a pleasing addition to the slightly drab collection of black garb, and would be suitable imitation of the Magely peacock ways for the duration of his imprisonment.
The Dragon gave him an appraising look when Edward walked into the treasury, raising his head from its resting place on top of the creature's glittering bed. "A vast improvement," Roy declared. "You look positively decent, mageling."
Edward bristled. "I'm glad my attire no longer shames you, my host," he snarled, then his eyes widened and he let out a gasp, fearing very suddenly for his life.
Roy, however, seemed amused by Edward's impertinence. "Courtesy had thus far restrained me from making comment," he stated, airily, and beckoned the Mage closer. "I wish you to tell me the story of this coronet- your divination skills allow you to read the life of an object's owner, yes?"
"It is a simple enough task, but requires much concentration," Edward explained, wondering, once again, at the Dragon's intimate knowledge of magic and magical practition. Encouraged, and a little mystified, by the beast's enjoyment of his cheekiness, Edward stepped closer, scrambling up onto the gold pile at Roy's urging. He unhooked the coronet gingerly from Roy's offered claw and examined it. It was a crude, vulgar thing; a thick, ugly band of gold festooned with big hunks of precious stones, gaudy and tasteless. He rather liked it.
The Mage hesitated a moment, uncertain of how close the Dragon wished him to remain, then settled into a comfortable, cross-legged sit mere feet away from his host, dropping the item into his lap.
Roy's lips curved back from his teeth, and he set his head down on his foreclaws, his coils shifting about as he made himself comfortable.
Edward tried to calm the thrumming of his heart, his excitement at the Dragon's relaxed proximity, and closed his eyes, raising his hands to trace symbols in the air above the coronet. Divination was the most elusive and meddlesome of the arcane arts, and required a level of concentration that the Fullmetal Mage usually deemed frivolous and unnecessary. It seemed churlish, however, to deny Roy's request when the Dragon took such an interest in Edward's magic. And, of course, it gave him a much-needed opportunity to study his research project close-up.
As the life and times of a barbarian warlord unfolded before his eyes, and as he spoke the tale aloud for his rapt reptilian audience, Edward couldn't help but marvel anew at the uniqueness of his situation. Here he was, half-metal magical genius, caught in the clasp of a firebreathing Dragon, whose only wish with him, it seemed, was to watch him weave magic and listen to him tell stories.
By the time he finished the tale, the Dragon's eyelids were at half-mast over his pearly eyes, and Edward had to wonder if Roy had heard the story at all, or was simply enjoying the sound of a voice besides his own.
Though stars knew, the creature certainly enjoyed his own voice rather well.
As the Mage set the coronet aside, Roy raised his head with a yawn, all of his very sharp teeth displayed prominently, and shook out his neck, shifting again with the faint, chiming scrape of gold on scale. "That was an exemplary telling," he said, once he'd found a more comfortable position. "One would not suppose such a bloodthirsty past to such an innocuous piece of tat."
"It is always crowns that have the bloodiest history. Swords can only kill so many, but a crown can have a nation decimated."
"Ah? You are a radical, little Mage?"
Edward's shoulders twitched, but he held back the rant with extreme effort. "I've seen what has been done to ordinary people in the name of kings," he responded, quietly. "You have one man in charge of a country, that could be thousands of lives in one hand. Not even Mages have that much power, no one should. And they're all a load of money-grabbing gits," the Mage added, slightly less philosophically.
The Dragon laughed, low and deep. "And yet humans continue to place their faith in the divinity of a single family's rule. Surely someone should have noticed the flaw in this world order? You are not all ignorant creatures."
"Hmph. I wouldn't be so sure. Humanity's pretty much made up of morons," Edward snorted, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Except me and my brother. And Princess Winry, I guess. And my Teacher…"
"You attribute intelligence to individuals who influence you and dismiss the rest of your species? I wonder what it is you have seen, to make you so cynical," came the musing response.
Edward opened his mouth to answer, and found his mind, normally so full of words that they had to crash out of him or explode, completely empty.
The Dragon's next words were spoken softly, gently, and were rich with wisdom gained of a long life. "To live as one blinded to wonder, to the richness and value of the common things, is to live a life in which the shadows loom much darker, Fullmetal Mage. You are so incredibly young, to be so blinkered by bitterness."
The Mage squirmed, uncomfortably aware of just how piercing the Dragon's sharp perception was, and had to resist the need to duck his head away from Roy's gaze.
Roy eyed him a heartbeat longer, then turned his head away, closing his eyes and curling up on his glittering hoard. "Leave me. I have no further use for you, this day."
It was with an odd, aching sort of melancholy that Edward departed, strangely affected by the Dragon's remonstration. For a brief time, they had shared something, a moment of common thought and kinship, and then the coolness, the aloofness, returned to Roy's manner as if disdain had never given way to companionship.
Common lore had it Dragons were completely alien creatures, almost entirely resistant to study and understanding. Edward hoped yet to prove that concept untrue, but he could not help but feel disheartened by what felt like a failure of their first real, mutual interaction.
Sighing, the Mage took the steps back up to the safe space of the library- if nothing else, he always had the non-judgemental embrace of literature.
