Author's Note: I write this to you as my mom watches Avatar in the living room. I thought I'd do a more angsty chapter, just to balance it out with Ed's disturbances. Angst is my forte, so enjoy!
Chapter Eleven
That night, Lanfan cried.
Not because of the ever-approaching surgery dated for the next morning. She had lopped off the arm in the first place, so she could probably endure some more pain.
It had fully dawned on her, the striking reality of her grandfather's death. If she hadn't been so incompetent, she and Ling would both be back in Amestris, the latter of the two sweeping in shirtless and bloodstained to save the elder guard. She inwardly hit herself for thinking such explicit thoughts.
Usually, she'd be pretty good with traumatic events like this. She had built an emotional barrier over the years of her training; the last time she'd shed tears was when all of the older guard boys had pulled her hair and locked her in the weapons shed. But it had only taken one fissure in the heavily built dam to open the floodgates, and that fissure was Ling. Ling and his goofiness, his utter sweetness, and his… shirtlessness. One more inward hit for Lanfan.
Ling was still snoring away, his face half-buried in the pillow. Lanfan stole a glance at him, wiping her eyes and slinking out of the guestroom in the blacksmith's quarters.
Because Xing was a combat nation, it wasn't hard for Lanfan to find a training courtyard in the palace. The surprising thing was that it was deserted. The training dummy still hung on a post, its tattered limbs swaying in the wind. A frown was stitched on its face. Or at least, Lanfan thought it was a frown. It was hard to tell, because the embroidery had become so deformed.
Lanfan's eyes narrowed, imagining the grimace to be that of one Fuhrer Bradley. She armed herself with a kunai, aiming it at where the dummy's heart would be. Metal met fabric, the cotton starting to pour out of the gash.
The tears came again. She glared at the cotton-filled sack. "This is your fault. All of this!"
She pulled out another dagger, charging into the poor dummy. She plunged the knife right into his eye, pulling it down. Now, the mannequin was barely recognizable; just a pile of fluff and textile. The bottom-half of his face was still intact, the scowl still haphazardly sewn on.
Even though the dummy was no more, Lanfan continued to stab at the remains. "Your fault! Your fault!"
After a while, her arm had gotten tired. She collapsed onto the cold stone floor, gathering the vestiges in her arm. "My fault…. My fault…."
More tears came. This time, she didn't fight them.
She could hear the light tapping of her master running to her. Ling froze when he saw his guard, his stronghold, broken and weeping on the floor of the courtyard. "Lanfan!"
She hid her face in her scarf, ashamed of herself. "My fault…."
He slung an arm around her, pulling her up so that he could see her face. When he pulled the scarf away, she just buried her face in her hands. "What is your fault?"
She recoiled when her employer lifted up her small frame, balancing her on his lap. "Young Master… I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry…."
He ignored the slight twist each apology put in his stomach. "What's wrong?"
When in doubt, bow. "I am sorry Young Master. I was just… uh… training."
Standing up, the clean-cut guard turned on her heel and strode back into the palace. Ling frowned, tracing patterns in the puddles of tears that had been left in the crevices of the ground.
He stood up, staring blankly at the empty spot where Lanfan had once stood. The thing that was most troubling, was that he might've lost her forever.
"Ah well," Ling said to the air, making a silent prayer for the mutilated dummy. "A prince is never one to give up on the one he cares about."
Author's Note: This was partly inspired by a fanfic called "Ten Lessons", except Ling has a sliver of hope in my version. I hoped you liked it! Please review!