Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist


"You draw the fire from within? Is that some sort of mystic riddle?"

"And why, perchance would it be a riddle?"

"Legend has it that a Dragon's tongue is sibilant with more puzzles than a Sphinx could conjure up, why should it not be a riddle?"

"Your reasoning is sound, but your conclusion erroneous- what Mage conducts his study from the lofty vantage point of myth and conjecture?"

"One to whom no other path lies open! One who has nothing more substantial than legend and smoke trails!"

"Ah, but you, mageling, have the peerless advantage of a living, breathing Dragon at your disposal, wise and sophisticated, elegant and refined and knowledgeable…"

"Arrogant, obnoxious, indeterminate…"

"You do yourself an injustice, Fullmetal Mage, such a description is unworthy of your noble stature."

"…"

"My, what a fascinating shade of burgundy. Are all humans capable of turning their skin that colour? It truly is delightful."


Edward frowned at his notes. The tip of his quill, still soaked with coarse ink, tapped restlessly at the hapless parchment. Spots of ink covered the Mage's black and red attire, darkened his skin, even shadowed his eyes, where he had unthinkingly rubbed with inkstained fingers. The parchment leaves were a mess of hastily scribbled, half-formed observations, complete with rough sketches and the occasional frustrated scribble, where Edward had been unable to grasp his meaning within the fallible medium of language. The blond brushed the feathery end of the quill against his lips, then tickled it along the fine-haired line of his jaw. He had so many questions, and so few answers.

Truly, Dragons must be the most elusive of creatures! One could not even capture them fully with paper and ink, and a Mage's imagination. Roy was surprisingly accommodating of Edward's curiosity, even proving himself to be an effective editor of the paltry information that the Mage set before him. The Dragon was as eloquent in writing as in speech, and had suggested adding his own preface to the work- Edward's first thought, naturally, was to wonder if there was any bird living whose feathers might make a quill large enough for the Dragon to write with.

Despite his host's honest interest in the endeavour, however, it seemed that it was contrary to Roy's nature to make Edward's life easy. He insisted on feeding the Mage tidbits and fragments of knowledge, tiny wisps of fact that dissipated into useless abstraction as soon as Edward set pen to paper. It was infuriating, and what was worse was the extent to which Roy clearly loved provoking the Mage into a mindless, spluttering fury with his meandering, circular discussions and tiny, tantalising increments of detail that served only to stoke up the flame of Edward's curiosity.

It was enough to make the Mage seriously consider casting a spell of truth over his host, provided he could channel enough energy into it.

Sighing, Edward set his notes to one side and retrieved his pile of research materials; the books were proving about as useful as the Dragon, but at least they didn't have an irritating air of smug omniscience, like Roy.

It was a clattering of steel that drew Edward's attention from the ruby-encrusted grimmoire, some long time later; clattering metal and a triumphant human shout.

Blinking, jerking up from his study was violent suddenness, Edward hissed as his cramping back and shoulders protested, then scrambled to his feet, straightening his robe and reaching for his staff- if there was a new human here, then it was the Mage's duty to either warn them off, or render them incapable of summoning a rescue party. The last thing Edward wanted was a motley band of would-be heroes storming the castle and disrupting his research with an ill-placed crusade of rescue. Grumpy at the interruption, he stalked from the library, his red overcoat billowing about him with a dramatic importance that the Mage could only approve of.

The clanking of armoured footsteps drew the blond's attention to the newcomer's position, and he hurried through the halls to the upper gallery that ringed the great rooms of the keep. He was heading specifically for the one that ran around the entire entry hall. Once there, he took up station behind a pillar, and peered out at the guest. His jaw, as it had become accustomed to doing recently, dropped.

The Knight who was striding across the hall was huge, a brawny figure half as tall again as Alphonse, and possibly three times his width. His armour gleamed with the polish of vigorous buffing, it shone with the expensive, solid sheen of quality that could only be bought. Edward quickly rubbed at his eyes with a mutter of incantation; when he raised his head, the light of the magical enhancements to the armour nearly blinded him, and he cursed as he undid the magic-detection charm. This was no ordinary footsoldier.

As he stepped forwards, making no move to mask his loud footfalls, the Mage observed the smooth precision of the armour's movements, the way it flowed about the Knight's form as if metal had been crafted into something as pliable as skin. Even from his lofty, shadowed hideaway, Edward could easily make out decorous, extensive engravings upon the steel, a kind of ornate embellishment whose sophistication just hinted at over-exaggerated vulgarity. The flashes of chainmail at the Knight's joints looked to be scale-mail, a horrendously costly type of mail whose upkeep was barely worth the excellent protection it offered. Even the leather scabbard hanging at the Knight's side- a massive, almost monstrous, object- was wrought with elaborate decoration and spoke of quality, old money and old values. Plus, the bloody thing was at least the size of Edward himself, which was pretty damn big for a sword.

Edward noted the confident, casual air of the man's walk; he might be strolling in a nobleman's walled garden, for all the relaxed assurance of his gait. One might never suppose he was penetrating the dark inner sanctum of a Dragon's domain.

In the centre of the entrance hall, the Knight halted. The helmet, with its pointed visor, swivelled this way and that as its wearer took in his surroundings. The figure's shoulders drew up, and the enormous chest, impossibly, expanded, before the Knight let out an earth shattering bellow.

"FOUL DEMON OF THIS FOETID WASTELAND! I, SIR ALEX OF THE HOUSE OF ARMSTRONG, DO HEREBY CHALLENGE YOU TO A RITE OF COMBAT, IN HONOUR OF MY FAMILY'S NOBLE LINEAGE AND IN MY SWORN DUTY OF VALOUR TO PROTECT THIS LAND FROM EVIL!"

Silence, blessed silence, met the Knight's holler.

Uncurling himself from his foetal position on the floor, with his hands clamped desperately over his ears, his limbs shaking with the aftershock of the great tumult, Edward clambered awkwardly to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. Stars, if the man possessed muscle to match his lung capacity, Roy was…well, not to put too fine a point on it, the Dragon was very much buggered. The Mage dithered, indecisive.

As he did so, a distinctly-irritated roar reverberated through the castle, accompanied by the heavy thudding footfalls of his approach. Edward had moment to consider his newfound ability to identify types of Dragon roar, then his attention was entirely focused upon the grand entrance of his host.

Roy stalked into the entrance hall, drawing himself up to his full height once clear of the corridor. His head was lifted in proud, domineering arrogance, nobly set upon his curved, muscular neck, and his tail lashed like an angry cat's. Even the gigantic Knight was massively dwarfed by the Dragon, rippling scale, darker than a bandit's heart and glimmering like the sheen off a switchblade. Roy planted his feet far apart, his claws screeching as they dug into stone, and showed his teeth, the tough scales of his hide rippling with power. He regarded the intruder with a snarl, clearly unimpressed, his lips drawn back to show off his teeth, a stark and serious warning.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the Knight responded by drawing his huge sword and dropping to a kneel, with a swift, assured grace. He bowed his head, clasping his hands atop the great bulging pommel, and said, "Oh Lord of the Castle, by right of the power granted me by the honour of my holy vows…"

"Silence! Save me the empty intonation of your promises! I care not for the feckless words of a Dragonslayer!" Roy growled, slashing furiously at the air with his right foreclaw to silence the Knight. "You seek to strike my head from my shoulders and bear it as your standard. Do not cloak your lust to kill in valour."

At that, the Knight raised his head, but did not climb from his prostrate position. "I am no Dragonslayer, Lord. I bear no rotting heads to battle, only the hopes of those I seek to protect."

Edward, entranced by the display, considered that such an exchange of words might be Dragon fighting etiquette; which raised the question, did Knight Orders know of the intellectual capabilities of some Dragons? And if they did, why was such information not made known? Long had the reputation of Dragons bore a black mark at the hands of Knights' tales.

"Those you seek to protect?" Roy snorted, a crackle of flame shooting from his lips in his anger. "You think me ignorant of this land's history? Oft has the name of Armstrong come to my ears, oft have tales of glory-hounds and fame-ravens ravaged my hearing. The House of Armstrong, fabled for its wisdom and courage, and ability to sneak up on sleeping beasts to steal their lives for the sake of yet another bard's adulation. I know of the lineage you so proudly proclaim, Knight, I know the stories as they were before the poets melted down and reforged them, corrupt blacksmiths to a man."

Sir Alex's shoulder's were shaking as Roy delivered his damning proclamation, and as the Dragon hissed his last, poisonous accusation, the Knight leapt to his feet (no small achievement under all that armour), and threw himself into classic fighter's stance, his swordtip trembling with what Edward could only guess was rage against the Dragon's slander. "Ghastly vermin! For that slight upon my family's honour, I shall have your head!"

"Ah, the true heart of an Armstrong, at last you show yourself." Roy crouched, bunching up his muscles, coiling in on himself in preparation. "Good luck, Sir Knight. I shall enjoy picking you from between my teeth."

With a wild bellow, the Knight charged, whirling the sword above his head as he rushed at the Dragon. Edward's heart leapt to his throat and lodged there, panicked and fluttering like a startled bird, as Roy wrenched his head back and roared his flame forth, a billowing, deadly supernova of fire that engulfed the Knight completely, an explosion of heat and conflagration that burst orange and crimson and gold in the air.

The Knight's scream continued. From within the blossoming heart of the fire, he emerged, his armour glowing cherry-red, and launched himself at Roy, who screeched his alarm and whirled, a pandemonium of writhing scale, ducking away to absorb the shock the attack and meet the sword with the hard bone of his forearm, not the vulnerable fleshiness of his chest.

Mystified by the lack of Knightly ashes, Edward let his eyes follow the brutal fight, noting Sir Alex's incredible swordplay and physical prowess as he became a silver blur, his barrage forcing even the enormous Dragon to adopt a defensive position. As he watched, Edward's eyes burned in a sudden reminder of his earlier magic-detection; there were enough spells embedded within the Knight's armour to withstand the flame of five Dragons, let alone one, it was no wonder Sir Alex had emerged unscathed. The Mage swore under his breath, his hands gripping the sandstone balcony of the gallery as he willed speed to Roy's limbs, strength to his blows.

After all, he knew the Dragon's propensity for mercy. He knew nothing of this stranger Knight from a bloodline of beast-killing.

As Edward watched in fretful anticipation, Sir Alex was forced back from his assault as Roy battered through his attacks. In a desperate, hurried attack, the Knight dove at the Dragon's side, his blade a deadly glittering arc too swift for Roy to defend against, then the Knight was scuttling away with a bestial scream ringing out behind him, ducking behind a pillar diagonally opposite to the Mage's standpoint, resting his back to the stone as he drew in ragged breaths, his shoulders slumping with tiredness. The Dragon, meanwhile, squatted in the centre of the hall, hunched with pain, curling about a gaping wound in his side. Edward swallowed hard; Roy's blood slicked the floor beneath him, so copious was the flow, and the agony of the blow was causing the Dragon's wings to strain against their bonds, flexing with spasms of pain.

Edward hesitated, calculating just how far he could project a healing spell in the space of a heartbeat, when Roy's head snapped up. An enraged howl rent from the Dragon's quivering chest, and he reared up onto his back legs, his foreclaws thrashing at the air as he fought to balance. Edward's heart, still shivering in his throat, stopped dead, as Roy let out a defiant cry, filling the keep with the Dragon's rampant ultimatum. The Mage, unable to remain still, hopped up onto the balcony ledge to get a better look at the Knight, who was drawing himself up with what looked to be a determination ferocious enough to match Roy's.

The Knight stepped out from behind the pillar. Edward's estimation of him immediately soared; none but a man of heroic fortitude would meet such a challenge.

Roy let out a guttural bark, still gigantic on his back legs, then he opened his jaws wide and a jet of white-hot flame shattered towards the Knight. In the wake of the fire, Roy pounced.

Too late, Edward realised the precariousness of his position. As the Dragon struck, the reverberations of his earthquake-impact set the entire castle a-judder, a shockwave crashing through the hall enough to dislodge the Mage from his perch.

With a helpless cry, Edward lost his grip on the stone, and his staff, and for a long, sickening moment, the world lurched about him, dislocated, flashing light and colour as he scrabbled at empty air, the wind rushing past him, his mind blank of anything but his impending death…

And he landed, heavily enough to batter the breath from his body, in the diamond-hard, steel-strong grip of a Dragon's claws. As he gasped frantically for air, he grabbed out wildly at the darkness that held him safe, his heart hammering loud in his ears, unable to process anything but the security that held him, bruised but alive, in a leviathon's hold. Edward could feel the fear, lightning striking throughout his body, and he barely noticed Roy lowering him, gentle as a mothering wolf, to the floor and unclasping his claws to the lay the Mage upon cool slabs of sandstone.

Propped up on his hands, Edward watched dumbly as a reptilian snout, as big as a dog, nudged at him.

"You possess the most horrendous sense of timing, mageling," Roy growled, exhaustion making his voice even huskier than usual.

The Mage could not even gather together enough will to nod his head in agreement.

The clatter of metal on stone caused both Mage and Dragon to look up. Sir Alex's visor rattled to noisy stillness at the Knight's feet, and, with the helmet removed, a bald head was revealed, glistening with sweat that soaked even the man's dainty blond walrus moustache.

That was not, however, the detail that caught either Edward or Roy's eye. The shiny-pated head was practically glowing red with indignant rage, and the Knight's armour began to rattle as he shook with anger. "You fiend! You scourge of evil! You would imprison a helpless child? Does your wretchedness know no bounds?"

Sir Alex raised his battered sword once more, lifting over his head and bracing himself to storm forwards, his every muscle charged with righteous fury, when an unearthly shriek stopped him in his tracks.

"WHO'S A TINY LITTLE MIDGET SO SMALL A DRAGON WOULDN'T EVEN CHOOSE HIM FOR A SNACK?"

Before the Knight could register the source of the voice, an odd blue glow surrounded him, covering his every limb. He tried to move his head to better examine it, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he realised that his every inch was frozen, held immobile against his will, helpless to resist.

He tried to struggle, setting his considerable force of will against the walls of his magical prison, and ran up against the burgeoning, towering wroth of an extremely angry wizard. Edward, the shock of his fall burned away in the heat of his wrath, clambered to his feet, blond hair standing on end, and stomped over to the Knight, his right hand raised and glowing with the same blue light that trapped Sir Alex. When he was mere inches away, the Mage stopped and, with an impatient flick of his hand, forced the Knight to bend down so furious golden eyes could meet bemused blue ones.

"Listen, mate," Edward growled, sounding uncannily like his host, "you have two choices. Either you leave the castle right now with all of your limbs intact and your face not burned off or," the Mage snapped the fingers of his left hand, and a fallen chunk of masonry behind him exploded, "you can try calling me a child again. What's it to be?"


Edward examined the flesh beneath his hands. The symbol he had traced out in the Dragon's blood continued to shine as he passed his hands over it to stir up the energy, skin and scale knitting together nicely under his watchful gaze.

"This would be a lot easier if you could keep still," he commented, wryly, as the Dragon's side hitched beneath him.

Roy didn't answer. With his head thrown back, and his entire body seized in convulsions of laughter, Edward doubted the beast had even heard him.

Not that he blamed Roy. The sight of the noble Sir Alex sprinting out of the castle without even stopping to get his horse was something that would brighten Edward's memories for years to come.