Author's Note: So, a bunch of people have been PM-ing me about my inspiration for the geography of this story. (Wow! People are interested in that? Awesome!) In case anybody else is wondering, I mostly use information about the Taklamakan desert. I thought it was fitting, since the Taklamakan has the presence of both Chinese and Muslim peoples, which remind me of the Xingese and Ishvalans, respectively.

People have also been saying that the heat in this story is well described. Thank you. I live in Texas. It's very hot.

A longer chapter this time, as a treat to those who patiently waited its arrival.

Day Fourteen

Nasesh-Arem, what Lan Fan eventually learned the Ishvalans called their home, had not been easy to find. No tracks, caravan or human or otherwise, had lead her to its borders. Instead, following the faintest echo of chi, Lan Fan had happened to spot a small outcropping of rocks. From her perspective, they had appeared to be no more than a gradual heaping of short boulders, and nothing more.

Lan Fan had approached them – during her frantic hunt for people, food, water, and help – with no other purpose than to perhaps shelter between some of the larger boulders. She remembered how her short, dehydrated pants had echoed off the red-brown stones, filling her ears with a low hum of noise.

Only a moment later had she realized, once her breathing had calmed, that the humming sounds did not resonate with the desert noise with which she had grown so accustomed. The pads of her fingers had scraped against the rough rocks as she stilled, picking out the sounds of movement: faint rustles and bustles and snatches of unnatural sound.

Suddenly, a sharp shout of booming laughter had descanted over the noise and carried into her ears. She had snapped into action instantly. Animals did not laugh, people laughed. And people meant civilization, and civilization meant help. Only a small barrier of rocks had stood between herself and her goal, and Lan Fan had looked up with confidence at the wall before her. The meager crop of boulders stood no taller than nine feet, rising on a steady incline. Lan Fan had it scaled in seconds.

She scrambled up the final stone in her hast, and promptly almost lost her footing. Without warning, the boulders gave way sharply, plunging some fifty feet below her. Lan Fan had been lucky not to have fallen - even she, with all her training, would have found it impossible to escape shuch a fall.

That outcropping upon which Lan Fan had stood was the head of Nasesh, the western wall of the village. A fierce and jagged cliff, Nasesh dropped steeply down and down before evening out to curve upwards. Eventually the line carried up enough to form the gently-sloping eastern wall, a face which the Ishvalans called Arem. The village of Nasesh-Arem lay tucked up snuggly between the resulting valley, their flat-roofed clay buildings blending in with the russet cliffs.

Largest and most ornate of those buildings sat the highest on Nasesh's cliff-side, rising well above the rest of the village. It had been into that building that Lan Fan had burst, completely without tact, demanding to speak with whomever held authority.

The poor young guard at the entrance had stuttered with surprise when she'd seized his shoulders, half-pleading and half-threatening: "A traveling companion of mine is gravely ill, and still out in the desert. I require any assistance you can give me!" The guard had nodded, dumbstruck at her sudden appearance, before leading her swiftly through the building's high doors.

It was in that building, a high temple of Ishvala, where she now sat in extreme discomfort.

A long and squat table stretched out before her. Fingers clenched tightly on her thighs beneath the dark wood, a line of cold sweat gathering at her nape, Lan Fan fought to keep her composure. Her back ached from being held for so long in such a stiff and straight fashion.

"Remember your training," she pleaded with her muscles, willing them into stillness. "You are a servant to the Yao family. You are stoic. You are calm. You are proud…" Her shoulders twitched. Against her will she fidgeted, and despaired. "You are pathetic!"

As if to further her embarrassment, Lan Fan flushed hotly, betraying any attempts at stoicism. "So much for strong and calm," she berated herself. "Grandfather would be so disappointed in me…"

Across the table, an elderly Ishvalan laughed. He had introduced himself as Hamou, and clearly served as religious patriarch of this small community. Short and gangly, with tufts of white hair puffing out like wild dandelions, he sat with dignity and ease. A simple green chain hung around his neck as proof of his authority, clashing slightly with the light robes he wore.

"Miss Lan Fan, please," he said with a kind smile. "There is no need to hold yourself back so. Please, take advantage of our hospitality."

With an almost lazy wave of his leathery hand, he gestured towards Lan Fan's source of discomfort. She followed the movement, looking down at the spray of temptation before her.

There was so. Much. Food!

Fresh food: piles of rounded flatbread and small bowls of shining honey; cactus berries and glistening slices of chilled melon; tiny apples (were those apples?); fat, green figs and, to Lan Fan's extreme delight, mounds of white fluffy rice. Having sustained herself for so long on nothing but dried meat, meat stew, and roasted (burnt on the nights Mei cooked) meat-kabobs, Lan Fan's mouth watered at the sight of such variety.

Still, "I will wait for my – my friend," she insisted, trying not to flinch at her slip-up. How could she have almost said "my Lord"? Master Ling's whispered instructions, as he had slumped against her atop his camel, had been very precise.

"Do not," he slurred into her ear as they raced across the desert. "Let them know who I am. Or Mei. The Shitong clan has ties to the Ishvalan nomads. These people can't be trusted." Some several paces ahead of them, the Ishvalan doctor showed no signs of having heard anything. His attention was commanded by Xiao Mei, perched and snarling on the camel's head, as he held a weak Mei in his arms.

Understanding her instructions, Lan Fan nodded, and promptly flushed when Master Ling rested his forehead against her shoulder with a sigh. Despite the fading heat, Lan Fan shivered when his breath ghosted across the exposed skin at her throat. Arms tightening around her waist, Master Ling pulled her back into a tight hug. "It is so very good to see you, Lan Fan. Well done. Are we there yet?" His weight suddenly slumped forward, sparing her from answering as he fainted.

And yet here she had almost given away his identity, through mere force of habit! Hamou tilted his head to the side, shrewd red eyes considering her beneath shaggy white brows. "Your consideration is admirable," he said finally. "But in vain. Your friend will not be joining us this morning. Doctor Pirro has expressed his opinion that he requires at least one more day of bed rest." He regarded her kindly over laced fingers. "And you have not eaten in quite a while yourself. Please eat. I would like for you to sample the foods which we have to offer."

Inwardly recoiling at the thought of indulging while her lord remained bed-ridden, Lan Fan stiffly picked up a flat clay bowl of fruit and took a delicate bite. Chilled sweetness washed over her palate, and her delight must have shown on her face, because Hamou once again chuckled.

"Strange, is it not, how going without can increase the value of such a simple thing?"

He spoke pointedly, and Lan Fan felt as though she had missed something. Peeking up through her bangs, she saw that Hamou was watching her eat with something close to anticipation. Swallowing another bite, she nodded suspiciously.

"And I understand that you are something of a provider for your two companions. You must be very strong indeed, to procure so much meat for the two of them." Hamou smiled, moving the wrinkles around his brown face in ripples. "Please, try the rice. It is delicious. Easy to prepare as well." He watched carefully.

Wary, back stiff now with apprehension rather than forced manners, Lan Fan reached for a bowl of the steaming rice. The familiar taste and texture of the food relaxed her stomach. In Xing, rice was such a prominent staple, present with every meal, that she had been shocked to not find it in Amestris.

Hamou waited until Lan Fan had taken a few more generous bites, before asking her smugly:

"And how is the taste? Different, I am sure, than what you are used to? Do not forget to try the glazed figs. They were prepared specifically with your approval in mind."

Keeping her expression neutral, Lan Fan extended her senses to detect the Hamou's chi. It coiled and frayed sporadically, and Lan Fan frowned. Hamou was anxious, and extremely nervous, as he watched her eat.

Bewildered with the old man's token interest in her consumption, Lan Fan obediently reached to spoon out a small portion of the fruit. Really, she thought, there was far too much food for two people. And Hamou wasn't even eating….

She froze, fig halfway to her mouth, and looked at the Ishvalan priest with wide eyes. Master Ling's words echoed through her mind. "They are not to be trusted." She remembered also, the vast array of desert poisons that would be available to this community.

With forced calm, she set the bowl down with a clatter, mind racing as she laced her hands under the table, fingering the senbon needles hidden in her sleeves.

"Not to your liking?" The priest asked.

Lan Fan did not respond, but instead took stock of her situation. Master Ling and Mei Chang (and the panda) rested in a medical facility a little further down the cliff. Depending on the strength of whatever poison she had been given, Lan Fan estimated she could make it to them in time to warn her lord and perhaps take out any assassins stationed around him.

Behind her, she sensed the approaching presences of two slowly-moving men, both holding something heavy. So, they thought to sneak up on her, a guardian of the Yao family? Fools. Breathing deeply through her nose, Lan Fan did a quick run-through of her plan of attack.

"Hamou is the closest – possibly armed. Upend the table to stun him. One second. Next the guards – tall and strong, ten feet behind me on the right and left. They'll be distracted by the sudden motion. Turn. Two senbon each: carotid artery, and eyeball. Kunai to the sternum. Three seconds. Turn, leap, finish off Hamou – knee to the groin, snap his neck. Two seconds.

"Exit window, navigate the streets…no…effects from poison will make me conspicuous. Take to the rooftops. Reach medical facility – thirty seconds – flashbomb to stun. Retrieve Master Ling and -"

Hamou sighed, unlacing his fingers to wave the two men forward. "I will be blunt with you then, Miss Lan Fan," he said. "We are a humble community, dependent upon our crops for survival. Your young friend will not be healthy enough to travel for at least three days." Blood-red eyes looked sadly out from the old man's face. "And you have something that we want. That we need. Very badly."

The stone? Lan Fan bit back a snarl, and leapt to her feet. A heavy noise from her left and right, hard and fast thuds slamming into the ground, and she swiveled to see the two guards, panting with exertion. At their feet lay several large baskets, filled to the brim with bags of grain and rice and fruit.

"What –" Lan Fan sputtered with confusion. Hamou had risen as well. He took her hands, not flinching at the cold metal of her automail, and spoke imploringly.

"This is all we can offer in return, but I beg for your generosity."

Baffled, she could only repeat dumbly. "My generosity?" Then she had not been poisoned, but bribed?

The old man nodded vigorously. "Please. The desert has been particularly harsh this season. Our crops are few, and what little cattle we own must be saved for breeding."

Lan Fan did not understand. Perhaps the priest wished to use the stone to transmute food for his people? An understandable, yet impossible, request – the stone belonged to Lord Ling. It must not be wasted, and certainly not for two baskets of food, no matter how delicious!

Still thrown by the turn of events, Lan Fan did not have time to reply. Hamou continued on, clasping her hands with the frail strength of a man who has worked hard for many years. "Doctor Pirro told me, when he helped pack up your belongings in the desert, how much meat lies in your party's possession."

She blinked. Meat?

"You are a skilled hunter. You can provide for your friends. But we are a modest, religious village, and our trade has weakened considerably. My people have not had meat in quite some time. As I said before, going without has made us all the more aware of our need for it. Will you not part with some portion of your rations, in exchange for what we offer?"

Lan Fan wanted to laugh with relief. This had not been an attempt at her life, but rather at her pocket! She looked at the wide variety of food before her with new perspective. So, she had been sampling the goods before buying them, had she?

Relief and compassion swelled in her heart. Outwardly however, she kept her face blank. "That decision is not mine to make, alone. I will confer with my traveling companions."

Hamou nodded. Lan Fan sensed his chi, so nervous before, resigned and defeated. She softened her features into an almost-but-not-quite-smile. "But I can assure you," she squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "That if we cannot spare any food, then I will go and hunt fresh meat for your village."

Eyes surprisingly misty, Hamou released Lan Fan's hands to raise his own to the ceiling. "Ishvala has truly blessed us with your arrival!" He laughed. "Surely your coming here was a godsend.

"Do you not agree, Talib? Did you not liken her arrival to that of a blazing seraph, descending from the almighty?" The young man on Lan Fan's right blushed, and she recognized him as the guard she had manhandled to first grant her entrance into the temple. His eyes flicked to where Lan Fan stood, before he nodded stiffly.

Again Hamou laughed. His happiness was so apparent, and so reminiscent of Master Ling's, that Lan Fan made the resolution to help them as much as she could. First things first though…

"If you'll excuse me," Lan Fan bowed courteously. "I will go and discuss the situation with M – with my friend – right now."

But Hamou would not let her leave unescorted and insisted on the two guards' accompanying her. Lan Fan resisted the urge to scoff at the needless gesture, hearing her grandfather's voice echo in her mind. "Manners, Lan Fan," he would always say. "You are not a dog."

Instead she bowed deeply again, waved off his offer of more food, and followed the two guards out of the temple.

Nasesh-Arem was not a large village – perhaps a fourth of the size of Rush Valley – and the journey to the center medical facility went quickly and in silence. The guard Talib, Lan Fan noticed, continued to glance down at her as they walked. It only took her a moment to realize that the Ishvalans would not be very familiar with the concept of automail, and hers was glinting in the afternoon sun.

Well. His curiosity was certainly none of her business, and her arm was no source of shame. Lan Fan lifted her chin and strode on purposefully, only blushing a little at the attention.

The rest of the village had already closed up, seeking to shelter during the hottest part of the day. Not a soul crossed their path before they reached the medical facility. It crouched low in the deepest dip of the valley, a modest dwelling surrounded by brightly verdant shrubs and bushes. The green color was like a balm on Lan Fan's eyes, having seen nothing else besides brown and golden sand for weeks.

Talib rushed forward to hold the door open for her, and again Lan Fan resisted the urge to snap. Instead she calmly turned her head and spoke without malice. "Thank you, but I am not an invalid. I can find my way from here." A shallow bow, and Lan Fan breezed through the doorway, ignoring the low whistle of the other guard behind her.

"Oh, well done Talib. Very impressive."

But Lan Fan did not hear him. Turning the first corner, she entered into a corridor that was fragrant with drying herbs and growing medicines. Noise carried down the hall – even if her feet had not instinctively known the way, Lan Fan would have had no problems finding Master Ling and Mei Chang's room.

" – must be allowed! I'm gonna collapse for sure. Where's that nice priest guy from this morning? He could understand me. Listen! If you could just find me, maybe a bowl or two…you know, make that five, just in case…."

Master Ling's voice drifted out of the room, and it was so familiar and comforting to hear his outrageous demands that Lan Fan had to take a moment to pause outside the doorframe. She allowed herself the briefest of smiles – overwhelmed, joyous, relieved – before regaining her composure.

"Lan Fan!" He sat reclined on a scratchy blue-and-green blanket. At her entrance, he beamed widely and gestured to the doctor in the corner. Lan Fan just knew, from the snatch of conversation she had overheard, that Master Ling had been trying his best to harass his doctor.

Fortunately the man looked decidedly un-harassed. Dr. Pirro was leaning over Mei Chang's blanket, minding the slumbering panda on her belly with caution. He balanced a flat bowl of scented water in one hand, laying a wet cloth across Mei's brow with the other. Ling was grinning.

"You know, Lan Fan, I don't think the good doctor here speaks the Merchant's Tongue very well. I've been telling him what I need all day, and he just isn't hearing me." Master Ling looked up to the ceiling with exaggerated delicacy. "I've been starving all day! Too bad I don't speak Ishvalan!"

Sometimes Lan Fan wished that her lord did not play the fool so well. She knew he was a just and capable leader, and she understood the necessity of presenting a guarded front, but honestly! It was embarrassing sometimes, to appear the dedicated vassal of a clown. It was even worse, when the amusement inspired by his silliness threatened to crack her veneer of stoicism. Master Ling always seemed to know whenever she was one step away from a smile, and his obvious pride with himself on those occasions never failed to make Lan Fan feel small and self-conscious.

There were more pressing matters now, however. Instead Lan Fan merely shook her head at the young prince's antics and crossed the room to where Mei Chang slept. After an evening of carefully-monitored rest and fresh water, the girl was looking much better already. Her breaths still rattled like a snake's tail, but her inhales were deeper, steadier.

"How is she doing?" Lan Fan asked.

"How should I know?" Ling replied, long-suffering. "Nobody has spoken to me all day!"

But Doctor Pirro answered from where he stood washing his hands in a basin. "She is dehydrated, and over-tired. But her illness has passed."

"Ah!" Ling pointed a finger accusingly, laughing. "You DO speak my language! I knew it!"

The doctor's red eyes were hard and sharp as slate as he glared at Ling. Lan Fan felt herself bristle instinctively at the hostility in the man's gaze, which evaporated into pleasant cordiality when he turned to address her once more. "Now that you are here to take watch, I will go to cultivate an expectorant. It should clear out her lungs quickly, and accelerate her healing process."

"Thank you very much."

"Hey hey," Ling waved at the large Ishvalan with a pawing hand. "Maybe you could pick up that food I asked for earlier while you're up? That should accelerate my healing process!"

Doctor Pirro scoffed, inclined his head politely towards Lan Fan, and promptly left the room. The door slammed behind him. Xiao Mei snorted a sleepy protest.

"I hope you are not surprised at his attitude, sire," Lan Fan spoke in Xingese, should any Ishvalan happen to overhear her address Ling as royalty. "You did hold a sword to his throat."

Ling's face lost a great deal of his cheesy humor, but amusement still remained. "Did I now?" He answered back in their language, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I do vaguely remember something like that. Was that before or after you left me in the desert to die of starvation?"

Lan Fan did not rise to the bait. "After, my Lord." She did, however, walk to sit at his side. Performing a quick, perfunctory scan of the area, she slid a hand into her pocket. She allowed herself to savor a moment of suspense, drawing out her fist much more slowly than secrecy required. It was worth seeing the delight that spread across Ling's face, his eyes opening slightly in surprise, when she produced two small green apples.

"Fruit!" he whispered reverently, taking one from her open palm.

"They are both for you, my Lord," she insisted. "I have already eaten more than my fair share." Ling needed no further prompting, and he sat happily back against the wall before biting off half of the first apple.

"Thank you Lan Fan. We owe that doctor for taking care of us, for sure, but all he's brought me is sludgy gruel. I could swear he doesn't like me."

"Yes my Lord," she answered, almost smiling. "But it is more likely that he is simply wary. You did look quite frightening when we first arrived to save you."

"Did I?" he laughed. "I actually don't remember much of that."

Lan Fan nodded seriously. "I have not seen you defend anything so fiercely in years, not since Fei Yen attempted to take the last Tsang-Yue dumpling when we were twelve."

"Come now, Lan Fan," Ling was now chomping his way up the core of the apple. Juice sleuthed down the side of his mouth, rolling a wet path to his throat. Lan Fan remembered the taste of the fruit, tart and crisp, and hated herself for blushing. "In my defense, it was the last dumpling, and I was hungry."

"That was Fei Yen's defense as well, I believe, my Lord. As I recall, it did not hold much weight with you at the time. You ate it anyway."

"I see. Are you implying that I'm a self-serving ruler, Lan Fan?"

"No, sire," Lan Fan answered, marveling at the giddy feeling bubbling up her throat. It made her light-headed, it made her bold. "Just a glutton." It made her stupid!

Ling blinked, surprised, and Lan Fan felt the warm bubbly sensation disappear. In its wake, ice snaked through her gut. Her mouth hung open with astonishment, and she wondered at the practicality of impaling herself on her own elbow-blade.

But Ling simply laughed, light and short – as if he could not help himself – and a look of delight surpassing his pleasure with the apples shone on his face.

Lan Fan despaired. Happiness was not the appropriate response! She had been disrespectful, insolent! She deserved retribution, not approval. She'd forgotten her place, teasing the prince like that, as if he was just a boy and she a normal girl. That was wrong.

Master Ling had royal blood in his veins. He would soon rule all of Xing, and save their clan. He was no mere boy. And she, Lan Fan, a low-born servant of the Honorable Yao family, was not a girl. She was a tool, a weapon, a bodyguard. A metal arm existed where once there had been flesh - she was not even whole enough to be considered a true woman.

She could not afford to forget that!

"You've got it all wrong," Ling interrupted her thoughts. For a painful moment Lan Fan was frantic. Can he read my thoughts? Please don't let him read my thoughts! But then, "I'm greedy, remember?" He said playfully, "not gluttonous!"

Looking down at the other apple, stark green against the blue blanket on his lap, he remarked offhandedly: "That actually reminds me of a time, you know, that I did protect something more important than a dumpling. Once." He said it casually, as if observing an interesting cloud formation. "It was against Gluttony, the homunculus. You probably don't remember. It was while we battled Fuhrer King Bradley. You had fallen. Gluttony was going to eat you."

Ling's fingers curled tightly around the apple, completely obscuring it from view. Slanted as they were, his eyes were still serious and intense when he looked up at Lan Fan. "I cleaved his head in twain before he got anywhere near you."

The room was suddenly too small, Mei Chang too asleep, and Lan Fan's face too red to be healthy. She stammered, desperately remembering her place, and resisting the urge to do something ridiculous like smile or cry or cover his hand with her own.

"It is a good thing that Fei Yen eventually yielded the dumpling to you, then," she turned her face away, grateful for the concealing length of her bangs. "It would not have ended well for her."

Ling laughed again, and Lan Fan did not smile. This was good. "Sire," she moved to bow lowly. "If the fruit is pleasing to my Lord, then I have an offer to relay from High Priest Hamou."

For a terrible moment, she worried that he was not going to allow for the change of subject. Her lord always did revel in making her as uncomfortable as possible.

Silence lingered poignantly in the air before Ling sighed. "I do remember him - from this morning. He was asking a lot of questions about how Mei was doing. He seemed nice enough. What does he want?"

"Apparently this village has limited resources, my Lord," she kept her head down. "They have maintained an impressive agricultural life, but are poor hunters. High Priest Hamou wishes to trade – produce for meat. I am willing to hunt for them, if it pleases my Lord."

Ling was silent for several moments. Lan Fan studied the frayed edges of his blanket. From the balcony, she could hear a camel lowing. Finally, Ling spoke.

"I don't like the idea of you out there again without us, Lan Fan."

"Yes my Lord."

"But they've been very kind to us. And you cannot say that I ordered you not to go. They cannot know who I am."

"Yes my Lord. I would not tell them you ordered me against it, should you not wish for me to go."

"But you want to do this for them."

Lan Fan did not hesitate. "I want what you want, my Lord."

"Oh, I truly doubt that, Lan Fan." He sighed again. "We do have one advantage, in the worst-case scenario. They don't know that I'm fully recovered. I could defend Mei if necessary. But best-case scenario, they are a peaceful community. And we should repay them."

"Yes my Lord."

"Take anything you need. I want you back by morning tomorrow, no matter what you've found."

"I will inform the High Priest, my Lord."

Two hours later found Lan Fan standing again at the head of Nasesh. The Philosopher's Stone hung heavy around her neck again, her nape still warm where Master Ling had touched it as he had fastened the band.

"Come back soon," he had whispered, kneeling to tie the stone around her bowed neck. She did not look up. He did not look away. "And be safe, Lan Fan, okay?"

Lan Fan studied the ground, listened to the air, and sensed the chi of several animals to the east. Turning, she steadied, and ran.