Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

A/N: Here's hoping you all had a lovely Christmas, and wishing you well for the New Year!


The first chills of autumn whispered tentative and shivery in the sun that stroked Edward's back. The air was heavy, as ever, with brimstone from the volcano's heart, yet there was a clarity and freshness in it that spoke of the oncoming autumn. It was so clear, in fact, that the calls of birds from the woods surrounding the mountain twittered about Edward's ears.

The Mage, concentrated on the task at hand, barely noticed any of these details. He was knelt in the courtyard, and surrounded by a wall of black scale, and there was an inquisitive reptilian head, bent around on a long neck, that was blocking his light. Under his hands, the Dragon's side was marred by a jagged line of scar tissue, a souvenir of the attack by Sir Alex of Armstrong. Though the wound was only a week old, the healing performed by the Dragon's Mage made the scar appear as one amongst the many long-healed battlescars that covered the black hide. Edward was currently engaged in refining his work; the first healing had sealed the injury, but hastily-so, and such a deep wound required a delicate touch to ensure a painless recovery.

As he delved into Roy's flesh with shimmering tendrils, magical extensions of his hands that slipped as smoke beneath the Dragon's skin, Edward's ears began to ring with the throbbing beat of the beast's massive heart and the river-rapid-rush of his blood, which sparked at the touch of Edward's energy; magic always reacted to magic, and, as the Dragon's origin tale had told, Dragons were formed of the raw stuff of magic. There was a vast well of energy locked in the creature's body, energy that glowed with the intense beauty of a fire's embers, perpetually set to ignite at a tiny nudge of the Dragon's will. The flame the Roy breathed was an extension of himself as much as Edward's delicately-wrought magic was a part of the Mage.

Drawing back from his craft with a final satisfied smile, Edward was startled by the appearance at his shoulder of the Dragon's long snout. Even now, after several weeks, the beast's sheer size was a source of amazement for the Mage. However, he had lost much of initial fear of the creature- he felt comfortable to lean upon a warm scaly limb as he conducted his study sessions with the creature, or stand directly beneath Roy's chest, between his forelegs, as the Dragon demonstrated the versatility of his flame. He had even finally worked up the courage to request permission to draw the beast, which had already proved fruitful- his messy stack of notes now benefited from sketches of Roy's paws and the structure of his jaw.

If anything, Roy seemed flattered by the attention, and genuinely interested in the Mage's conclusions. The output of the two sketching sessions had been carefully examined by the Dragon, who had complimented Edward's ready eye and steady hand, and then proceeded to preen at his depiction. Edward was forming a suspicion that the creature had a sense of vanity powerful enough to match his natural arrogance and cultured eloquence.

Furthermore, the crushing melancholy that had, at the beginning, shadowed the Dragon like a poisonous, pervading fog, appeared to be clearing somewhat. Roy carried his head higher, strode with more purpose, and was more apt to let out a bark of laughter, or so it seemed to the Mage. When he allowed himself to think on it, Edward couldn't suppress a glow of warmth at the idea of his own, small effect on the Dragon's wellbeing. Though they had been acquainted but a few short weeks, and though the Dragon could drive him to a raging fury with the least of exertion, Edward found himself becoming…fond of his irascible host. Roy was an enigma, a mystery that the Mage burned to solve, but he was also Edward's landlord, entertainer, teacher, critic and companion. Long nights of note-making and intense manuscript study were curiously alleviated by a gruff summons from the Dragon, be it a maddeningly casual demand (Roy once asked him to pick up a small rock and move it three inches to the side, just to provoke the wizard into a frustrated rage) or an entirely unprecedented question about human conduct (for example, the Dragon was fascinated by the very idea of public entertainment, and constantly dogged the Mage with enquiries concerning plays he had seen, concerts he had attended, even the most amusing jokes told to him be court jesters). The months of his 'imprisonment' promised to be an interesting journey.

Roy nudged him very gently with his cheek to get his attention. "Your work is thorough, Fullmetal One, you have my thanks."

That was another curiosity- the Dragon had recently changed his mode of address to Edward from 'mageling' to any and all variants of 'Fullmetal Mage'. The wizard shrugged it off as a further example of the mysterious arbitrariness the seemed innate to the Dragon's nature.

"You're welcome," the Mage replied, to his host's compliment. "It would not do for a captive to show up his jailor with shoddy craftsmanship."

"Such a pity it would be, indeed," came the dry response. "A tragedy made greater by your ensuing death by roasting."

"Did you just drop a gauntlet, O Scaly Master?"

"Do you think yourself able to match it, O Sorceror?"

Edward held the Dragon's pearly eye, then let out a surprised snort of laughter when Roy winked at him, cheekily.

"Perhaps such a challenge would be better meted out once you have had time to better hone your Dragon-slaying skills," the beast stated, airily, concluding his examination of his side with an approving nod. With a low growl, he unfurled himself, rising to his feet with much uncurling of limbs, and stretched luxuriously, setting his chained wings a-jangle. Edward, confident in the Dragon's ability to avoid accidentally striking him, remained stood in the creature's shadow, shrugging out his shoulders to match his host's stretch.

Once every limb had been worked to his satisfaction, Roy rolled a single eye back to the Mage. "It is not like you to use the vocabulary of the duelling field," he remarked, casually.

Edward instantly recognized the inquisitive tone; the Dragon had a query in his mind, but was not, as yet, willing to chase up an answer. He wondered what Roy hoped to discover about him. "The rituals of that sphere are old knowledge to me," he said, cautious of the Dragon's intent. The stories about draconic love of wordplay had thus far proved true, and he had learned that it was unwise to speak unnecessary words until the Dragon had at least revealed his intent.

"Ah yes, you must have encountered that arena of human violence often in your life. Your armoured brother was a formidable opponent. A skilled combatant for one so young. To which Fellowship does he belong?"

At the mention of Alphonse, Edward's hackles began to rise, instinctively. His hand tightened on his ever-present staff. "Why would you know of my brother?" he asked his voice low, dark with warning as the ominous darkness of shadows in which ne'er-do-wells lurk.

The Dragon snorted, a little jet of fire bursting from his nostrils. He shook out his wings, the sunlight glowing through the thin membrane and shimmering off the metal rings there embedded. "Peace, Fullmetal Mage, I seek no quarrel."

Edward relaxed infinitesimally, but his eyes, glinting hard like amber or a wolf's irises, narrowed suspiciously.

Roy watched him, intently, then sank to the ground, reducing himself from hulking spectre to calm statue. "You are intuitive enough to have gleaned much from my reaction to our invader- I attribute no honour to the deeds of those who clad themselves in steel plates and courtly words. You also know that I have little patience for the scheming trickery of Mages."

Edward nodded, his still face hiding the fact that he had no idea that Roy disliked Mages on principle.

"You have proved to be something of an oddity to my notions; you are a peculiarity born of a world of straight lines and compliance. The rules that must have shaped your education and conduct have served to imbue you with a healthy disregard for regulation or authority; you would be mistaken if you thought your little rebellious thoughts had escaped my notice, Mage. My eyes are bigger than your attempts at self-concealment."

At the Dragon's amused tone, Edward couldn't help the twitch of his lips, and ducked his head briefly to hide it- he had never been an expert at cloaking his intentions or feelings.

"Thus," Roy continued, "I have recently begun to consider the possibility that your innate disregard for convention is drawn from your blood, and I might draw such a conclusion only from knowledge of your kin. Is your brother as fractious as you? Does he defy the archetypal corruption that marks the institution of Knighthood?"

The Mage considered the question, remembering the Dragon's recitation of the Armstrong household's misdeeds. Roy possessed, it would appear, some deep, unsettling insight into the human history that formed the parameters of modern society. Knighthood represented order, honour and valour, steadfast pillars of humanity, the groundrock upon which the stability of civilisation resisted the destructiveness of chaos. And here was a Dragon, a demonic pariah and traditional enemy of humankind, a creature whose nature and conduct defied the labels placed upon it by convention, a Dragon who now sought to colour the convention itself with the black taint that had daubed his kind since humans first began to tell stories of the monsters that existed beyond the light of nation.

Well, he could but tell the truth, no matter how convoluted the issue. "My brother is the noblest of men," Edward stated, with the absolute certainty of a man attributing blue to the sky or green to the grass. "He walks as one without sin, he seeks nothing but an end to the suffering of others, he carries his sword in defence of those who cannot stand. He fights, and stains himself with bloodshed, that others might never have to. Whatever corruption rests at the heart of Knighthoood, you may be assured that Alphonse could not be cleaner of it."

Silence met his proclamation. It made Edward suddenly, nauseously aware of his sermonising, grandiose tone, and he shuffled his feet, coughing a little as his cheeks reddened. "That, er, that's the fact of it," he added, squirming under the Dragon's implacable gaze.

"You must share a deep bond, for him to inspire such a rigorous and eloquent rhetoric."

"He's my little brother," the Mage responded, taken aback by the observation that, to him, was as natural and true as breath.

Roy tilted his jaw, baring his teeth in a smile. "And those four words are all the explanation needed?"

"Yes." Edward swallowed hard, meeting the Dragon's questioning gaze boldly. He was proud of his brother's honour, fiercely proud of him, fiercely protective even though his taller, stronger sibling could probably defeat even him in combat (no mean feat, indeed). And though they were now used to the long absences that kept them apart with Alphonse on his quests and Edward holed up at the university, it did not mean that he missed his brother any less ferociously. Only the passage of time had taught the Mage and the Knight to bear the weight of that pain.

"Hm," Roy sounded sceptical. "I wonder."

Before Edward could take offence at that, the Dragon let out a sigh that ended in a second spurt of flame. "I have a brother, you know."

Edward's knees saw that statement as the opportune moment to deposit the Mage, gaping, on his behind. He stared at the Dragon, who unwearyingly returned his scrutiny.

"Not of the same egg, I hasten to add. But a brother nonetheless."

"…Really?"

"Indeed."

"I…hadn't thought…I mean, you mentioned your parents, but I didn't consider…"

Roy shrugged. Edward clasped his hands in his lap, wriggled about to make himself comfortable, now uncaring of the Dragon's views on humanity in light of this far more fascinating tidbit, and gave his host an expectant look.

"You are insatiable, Fullmetal. Where to begin?" Roy's claws tapped at the dirt, and Edward forced himself not to shuffle with impatience. "Well…First, you must understand that I use the term 'brother' lightly; there is no human equivalent for the word we use. My brother did not share my parentage, he was born of the union of two different dragons to those that sired me."

Edward quirked an eyebrow, confused.

Roy chuckled. "And you wish to know why I call him 'brother', if we do not share bloodlines? Ah, you humans have such concrete notions of family. You might share a common lane of birth, you might speak a common tongue, you might live common, interwoven lives, and you are not brothers? Such thought is alien to Dragonkind. One who drinks of the same waters, who runs and plays in the same shade, one who grows alongside you- such a one is your family, as certainly as one who shares your heritage."

"But by that token, kinship is nothing but the result of shared experience," the Mage protested, his brow furrowed. "Think you nothing of the sanctity of blood relations? One may choose any creature to be their companion, but the bond of kindred is inviolable, immortal; it binds together as surely and inexorably as the stars are bound to the night sky."

"It takes a single cloud to blot the stars from the sky."

"Clouds can only veil! They cannot forever cloak the light from view. Stars can only show their true brilliance against the darkness."

"And yet it is the brilliance of a star that brings us the illumination of daylight."

Edward spluttered at that preposterous claim. The sun, a star? Clearly, Roy had been in isolation long enough for his wits to sour like rotted milk. Before he could debate the point, however, the Dragon raised a claw to silence him.

"Regardless of the argument we might have on this issue, and I propose we merely postpone it to a later date, the fact remains that by my own judgement, I have a brother. May I be permitted to explain the circumstances of our upbringing, Sir Fullmetal?"

Roy's tone was thick with mock-politeness, and Edward quirked a grin, wryly acknowledging their ability to waste away the day in pointless debate, and gestured magnanimously for the Dragon to complete his tale.

The creature cleared his throat. "In faith, it is my belief that you will find the information most pertinent to your little study. As a fire Dragon, I began my life in the heart of a volcano. My mother laid her egg in lava, and it was the heat of the mountain's embrace that nurtured me whilst I grew in my shell. You are heartened by returning to your home, or to your family? That warmth gladdens my spirits when I return to molten rock, any molten rock."

Vividly, the image of Roy swimming up through the mountain's heart, white-hot and glowing, sprang unbidden to Edward's mind, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of a baby Dragon, cocooned and nourished by such a natural cradle.

Not noticing the Mage's amusement, Roy continued. "Mine was not the only egg to be laid in that particular birthing site- there was one other, sired by a smog wyrm and a flame Dragon. He was born of ash and smoke, my brother, born of the billowing, suffocating danger of rock and glass ground down to the deadliest of rain. He was ashfall, the explosion to my combustion, his flame was cinders and ashes, smothering even as it cut his foes to ribbons. Have you ever beheld a volcano erupting, Fullmetal?"

Edward nodded. His life had been populated by fantastical events, of which a volcano's fury was but one.

"Then you will know that ashfall poses a threat far more deadly than mere fire and lava. It is an all-consuming, all-powerful force, and that was the magic my brother wrought. His name was Jean."

So it seemed all Dragons possessed simple titles. Edward was barely surprised by that particular revelation, so often had he considered it. "Were you close?" the Mage asked, pondering the extent of the Dragon's definition of brotherhood. He knew his own could tend towards extreme but then, he and Alphonse were particularly dedicated examples.

"Close? Aye. The closest. Dragons are slow to develop, despite what you might think. Those of us from the superior bloodlines, in particular, are rich enough in magics that it takes years for us to grow into our power. Decades, almost. Jean was my companion until we were both fifty years of age."

Part of Edward itched to ask the creature just how old he was, if it took fifty years for him to achieve maturity. He restrained himself, with a considerable exertion of will, and contented himself with shuffling closer to the Dragon, his face positively glowing with eager attentiveness. "And then?"

"And then?" Roy echoed. The smile dropped slowly from his lips, and his head lowered. When he next spoke, his voice began to grow steadily hoarser, as if his brother's ash choked his throat, and the mournfulness of a funeral bell tolled ominous and melancholy through the words. "It is a pattern so ages-old that it must be written in the very foundations of the universe. Jealousy broke us part as surely as an earthquake breaks apart the rock of the world. Jealousy over the love of one we both admired."

"Love?"

The Dragon nodded, but remained silent. Edward squirmed uncomfortably in place. The gloomy downturn of Roy's disposition was reminiscent of the earlier days of their short acquaintance, days to which the Mage had no desire to return, no matter what insight he may glean from further discussion. He cleared his throat, tremulously, and inched closer to his hulking host.

"It…it seems to me that we…we stand upon uneven ground, Sir Dragon."

That caught the beast's attention. Roy looked up, raised a ridged eyebrow, and his whole body squirmed in place, shaking despondency from his countenance as a dog shakes dust from its coat. "Uneven ground," he repeated, dryly.

"Y-yes. Our exchange of information has, has not been…equivalent."

"And to a Mage, no philosophy holds such sacred power as the tenet of equivalent exchange."

"In-indeed." Edward wondered how he had so swiftly lost control of the conversation.

"Well, if you wish to tell me something of your early life, I should be most intrigued to hear of it. Besides, you have not told me the story of why you are called the 'Fullmetal' Mage," the Dragon stated, after a moment.

Edward looked up at him, musing on the mild curiosity in his voice. He sensed that though the creature was interested, he would not press for an answer the Mage did not want to give. "It is not flattering in the picture it paints of my character," he offered, ruefully.

Roy grinned. "My introduction to you, as you will remember, consisted of you breaking into my castle and attempting to murder me whilst your brother stole my Princess. Forgive me if I am sceptical that your story could further blacken such a reputation."

"You'd be surprised."

The Dragon ignored him. He leaned sideways, his massive bulk re-settling itself with a lightness and ease of movement that such a large beast should not, by the laws of physics, possess. Edward watched him come to rest onto his side, tucking his legs under himself like a horse. Folded wings fussed for a moment, their light chains chiming. Once comfortable, Roy eyed him with keen interest. "I promise not to eat you, no matter how disgusted I am."

Edward laughed at that. Deciding that it would at least pass some time, and that telling a Dragon about his sordid past was infinitely preferable to watching Roy slump into depression, he nodded his agreement.

As he did so, a spiked tail flickered out to tap him from behind. Surprised, he complied, climbing stiffly to his feet as it urged him forwards until he had clambered up to perch on one of Roy's relaxed back-paws. Nervously, he lowered himself into a sitting position, wondering at the warmth that surrounded him radiated by the creature. This was infinitely preferable to the cold ground, even with the occupational hazard. A deep rumble from Roy's chest signified his approval (Dragons purr? Another handy tidbit to entertain his readership) and the creature curled his head round on his long neck to rest it upon a coiled-up tail, a couple of feet from the young Mage. "Pray begin," the Dragon entreated.

In answer, Edward drew the white glove off his right hand to reveal gleaming metal fingers and a jointed metal wrist that disappeared into his voluminous red sleeves. Runes were inscribed across the smooth surface of the steel limb and a complex system of cogs and gears allowed him to flex silvery digits. To the trained eye, the sheen off the metal was a result of more than diligent polishing- the arm was powered by magic, lightened by magic and connected to the inner workings of Edward's body by magic, draining him of his almost-inexhaustible stores of arcane energy and filching his mind of its processing power. This was the reason why he'd devoted so much time honing his gift and training his mind. This was the reason why he favoured his left side, though the right was clearly dominant. This was why he could punch through glass with nary a flinch.

Slitted pupils widened with shock, but the Dragon was too wary of his captive to start upwards or draw closer to examine the metal appendage. "Fascinating," he breathed, studying what could be seen of the arm. His sharp gaze picked out the exact shape of the runic inscriptions, reading what he could of the complicated enchantments raised on what would otherwise be a lump of perfectly constructed but ultimately useless metal.

As if unsettled by the intensity of the focus, metal fingers began to fidget. "This is why I am 'Fullmetal'," Edward said, eventually. "It was constructed for me by the Princess Winry and her royal grandmother, with the aid of the High Mistress Izumi of the Quicksilver Circle."

The Mage watched the Dragon study his arm. Roy had reacted with curiosity, burning curiosity, and an intense interest in its movement, but there was nothing of the expected disgust or revulsion. An oddly light, bubbly sensation filled Edward's chest- something that tasted a little like relief. His appearance or the opinions of others on it, had never mattered much to him, so he liked to believe, but to think that and then to be confronted with the sneering opinion of humanity at large were two very different things. That a creature so intrinsic to this world, so intertwined with the ebb and flow and heartbeat of existence, would not find his deformity horrific was…strangely uplifting.

Emboldened, Edward shrugged his outer robe off his shoulders and set to work on the buttons of his black jerkin, tugging it open to reveal a black vest and his bare shoulders- one dark silver, the other pale gold. Again, the Dragon made no move closer. He seemed content to scrutinise the arm from a distance.

It was an attempt, Edward realised, to spare the Mage the effort of disguising his fear.

Humbled by the gesture, so casual, so unthinkingly generous, he lifted his hand into the air, unbidden, and began to twist and rotate the limb, demonstrating the (few) limitations in its range of movement. Roy tracked it exactly, focused entirely on the flickering glint of light off steel. Well, Dragons did like shiny things.

"You were…involved in battle? Is it not odd for young humans to become embroiled in conflict?"

"No. It was nothing like that." The metal arm dropped and Edward pulled his outer garments back on, but leaving the gloves aside for the moment. Golden eyes dimmed as the Mage lowered his head, studying the evidence of his sin. "I…I tried to summon a demon."