Disclaimer: Me? Own Fullmetal Alchemist? PLEASE. If I did, the ending to that movie would have been smothered in flames by now.
Author's Note:
I will come straight out and say it, though I'm pretty sure that all of you are tired of hearing these words already:
I'm sorry.
So, this time I will add a little more to this:
I apologize.
Why? Because of my heinous act of not updating for over five months. For my other heinous act of leaving people hanging off the edge of a real dangerous cliff when I posted On the Account for the sake of updating/not updating this chapter right here. Oh, and also for not updating Silver Demise for over a year. Some good news though, if you are readers of any of the two other fics: When I finished this chappie two days ago, my ideas for Silver Demise suddenly came back like Little Bo Peep's sheep at sunset (...they did come back, right?) -is a bit unfamiliar with that nursery rhyme-. Also, my ideas for On the Account have clarified for me as well. So if any of you are readers of either of those two stories, feel free to vote on the "Which one should I update?" poll on my profile. :)
...Considering any of my readers do come back, of course. -sweatdrops- :(
I also noticed that during my LONG absence, quite a lot of people have faved /put this on story alert...wow. Thanks so much!
Speaking of thanks, I offer thanks to ALL my reviewers, as usual. My special thanks go out to...aww, you know what? ALL of my reviewers. You guys were so supportive and helpful and a whole bunch of fairydust in my life! I could not ask for better reviewers! -beams-
And here, my first recommendation: Cerulean San's DeviantArt. Trust me, she deserves it. She is quite the artist, after all, and it would do any art-lover justice to go visit her page. :) ...What, still not enough of an incentive for you? Well, guess what: some of her pics have spoilers for this story, if any of you are interested -winks-
Oh yes, and even though I offer special thanks to all my reviewers, I would like to shine a little limelight on Cerulean San for some 15-minute fame here. She was really supportive of this story and helped me out when it came to getting a beta. -grins- Without her, wow...I don't really know.
Well, folks, I'm sure you heard me talk enough. From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter. (Plus, I once again tried to make it longer to compensate for the time I was away...don't know if I succeeded, but it's still pretty long, at least.) ;)
Enjoy! (And don't forget to review, please! :D )
Chapter 7: After the Days
She peered at the beautiful shining metal, her eyes roving over it in her curiosity.
"What is it?" she asked. She reached out a parched finger and gently slid it on a cool, slim surface.
Her father's strong hands gripped her on her shoulder in a grasp that she had always known as one of love. How she had loved that grasp when her dreams were fearsome or her heart was hurt.
"That is automail, Winry," he said with a voice jovial as a bird's. He grinned down at her. "Your grandmother couldn't keep her hands off of the stuff when I was a boy, not even on days when she didn't have to work."
Her blue eyes fluttered up at him. "Why's that, Father?"
"Who knows," was the answer. "People have always been saying that my mother was at least a teeny bit crazy." His eyes reflected sadness as he stared at the automail lying in its booth. The humming noise of words surrounded them as the crowd jostled around in the bazaar.
Winry's own eyes dimmed. She didn't like seeing her father sad.
"Well, what does automail do anyways?" she asked, trying to distract her father from his sorrow.
He glanced down at her again and smiled. "Well, you see, automail is sort of like…a limb replacement."
"Limb replacement?"
"Yeah. Whenever someone loses an arm or a leg, a talented automail engineer is able to make an automail that can replace that arm or leg so that that person can keep on living their lives. Without automail, well…"
Her father looked around, and then carefully rolled up his pants leg to reveal what she had never seen before- a shiny metal leg. She gasped and covered her mouth with her chubby little hands.
However, instead of wincing at her surprise, her father's smile became gentle.
"I wouldn't be able to walk around and enjoy life with my family," he finished.
Winry felt tears coming to her eyes as she touched his leg.
"Did- Did it hurt?"
His laughter was light. "Yes, it did at first. And it always does when it gets fixed. But Winry, listen to me-"
Large, rough hands encircled her smooth ones.
"It is because of this automail that I was able to keep on living. Never forget that."
'Keep on…living.'
She looked at the automail arm among the cloths of red- almost like blood, she suddenly thought. Blood for pain. But sometimes even healing caused pain.
'I don't want to cause others pain. But when I grow up, I want to help others live, just like my father. Maybe…maybe automail is a way I can do that.'
The metal arm shone in the noontime sun.
Winry slept soundly, as she often did, but Paninya was content to watch her friend in this calm state.
No matter how much she tried, her eyes wouldn't let her rest. No, it wasn't her eyes- it was her thoughts and fears.
It didn't matter that somehow Winry managed to spare their lives for the past seven days. Eventually, the sultan would have an order for two executions fulfilled.
But it also didn't matter that she herself would die. After all, she didn't think that she would be able to even dredge up the will to live after Winry's death…oh, if only it was her instead of Winry who had to be his wife! Then Winry's life would have been the one in less danger, and maybe Winry would even have had the chance to escape if she was no longer around to slow her down…
Paninya bit her lip. Winry would have scolded her for thinking like this. But even if she was aware of her actions, she couldn't help but be so worried for Winry and her current situation.
Paninya sat up in a cross-legged position and squeezed the ankle of an automail leg, her features clouded. It was the sultan's fault that all this was happening.
Because of him, Winry was forced to run her throat dry each night to reminisce a story that would matter little in front of an axe blade, a story that in the end could do nothing at all for them or any poor girl who came along after their deaths, even though it was that same story that was preventing their deaths in the-
Her thoughts skidded into an abrupt stop as a lone candle flared in the front of her mind.
'…Wait a minute…'
Slowly, a thought or a mundane thing of the sort wriggled and took form in her mind. It molded, remolded, and grew as little shoots of idea after idea breathed into it.
And with its growth came something Paninya never thought she would feel for the rest of her short life here.
True hope.
Just as she smiled, Winry turned her head a little to the side and gave a brief smile of her own, content in her dreams.
Her palms were sweaty.
She didn't know why they were sweaty. Palms usually only got sweaty because of excitement or guilt…or fear.
But this was her job. Her life's work. And while she always gave that fact the respect it was due, she never thought of it as anything to be excited or guilty about.
And she had no reason to be afraid, of course. She was a servant. She was serving. Nothing dangerous, right? Right?
But then, if it wasn't dangerous…
'Why am I being accompanied by guards?'
Her hands trembled underneath the tray she was carrying, and she plastered them as tight as possible to its underside in an effort to calm herself down. Even with her eyes kept straight ahead, her mind could still see the men beside her dressed in robes of stern white cotton and a dark sash bound around a single shoulder. They walked solemnly, one on each side, and she couldn't help but gulp at the flash of the blades swinging from their waists.
Her "calm" thoughts picked up speed and whirled around her frantic brain.
Why was she the one doing this? Why did she happen along that particular hallway that day? Why? Why didn't she oversleep? Or take a different route? Or get lost for her own good or something? Why-
Why was she the one who the sultan chose that day to serve his wife and her friend?
Her upper arms were trembling now, and it had nothing to do with the immensity of the tray she held in her hands. It had been seven days so far. In other words, an entire week. And his wife, who should have been gone well before the second day, was still alive and well and breathing.
Though the servants were in fact relieved about this miracle, it couldn't be said that it was expected. Now some of them had taken to muttering amongst themselves in the kitchen or in the hallways while working.
So far as she knew, no one was able to figure the answer to the question that they all had.
But she was positive that she did.
The sultan's wife and her friend were genies.
She knew that the others would think she was crazy, so she kept this solution to herself. But she was right, she knew she was!
How else would the sultan's men have found two girls in one night, what with the decrease in virgins nowadays? Why else would the proud sultan have his reason for keeping them alive a secret? Why else would he keep them alive in the first place?
'The sultan must have found a special lamp containing two genies,' she mused as the guards walked with her up the stairs. 'And since he didn't want to make it look suspicious if anyone came by and saw him talking to two girls, they devised a plan for them to come in masquerading as his wife and future wife. Then during the night he could freely talk to them and make them grant his every wish.'
'But then…don't genies eventually run out of wishes to give?'
She almost stopped walking to ponder the issue before she remembered the stiff-faced guards beside her. Barely keeping herself from stumbling from her mistake, she continued with her thoughts as a deep mahogany door rose in view near the end of the hall.
'The sultan is very wise for his age. He's probably saving those wishes so that he can decide what exactly is necessary to make a wish on. Then, after who knows how long, he can just stage an execution of the genies to uphold his reputation as a fierce ruler as well.'
She nodded once to herself…
Then ran smack into the door.
A rough thud ruptured Winry from her memory-scented dream. A squealing noise from behind the door was effective in fully waking her.
She glanced at Paninya, who was staring at the door with a raised brow. "What was that?"
The door opened with a click.
There was the brown-haired servant girl to serve their food, as usual. And the two guards at her side were not a new sight either.
One of the men had an exasperated frown on his face as he held one side of the slanted tray, and the girl held the other side while her head bobbed around.
Ah…she must have hit her head on the door.
Winry's eyes drooped at the somewhat pathetic situation. The girl was still bemoaning her head until one of the men cleared his throat and spoke in an impatient, treble-high voice,
"It is time for you to serve, servant. Your duties are needed elsewhere."
Winry had to fight to keep her eyes from enlarging to the size of cartwheels. These men…they were eunuchs?
Then again, she shouldn't be so surprise. The sultan would never entrust "full" men to guard any women around the palace. He was too careful, too knowing of what was bound to happen if he did so.
He was not a man who showed trust as freely as others.
The maidservant snapped to attention and quickly deposited the tray before them.
"E-excuse my insolence, Sultana," she stammered as she bowed before Winry.
She said nothing, but she did smile, and the maidservant blinked at her with surprise before hastening herself from her presence, the eunuchs following after.
The two turned to their breakfast as another click sounded throughout the room.
Alchemy and all its attributes are all based on a single foundation: One is all, and all is one.
This statement can be restated in many ways, yet still retain its meaning. The part is the whole, and the whole is the part. The dust is the earth, and the earth is the dust. The crumb is the food, and the food is the crumb. The bone is the skeleton, and the skeleton is the bone.
The meaning of all these and many other restated statements of the "One is all, and all is one" concept is not easily understood, and at times even the most grown of men can lose sight of its meaning.
The meaning is this: That because one is a part of the all, many ones, or parts, become the all. Therefore, one is the all. And since the all is composed of many of the one, it is the one. Every whole has its parts, and every part combines to make a whole. Without a part, there would be no whole. If there was no whole, there would therefore be no parts in existence.
The one and the all are dependent on each other. Without one, there is none.
This is not to be mistaken or twisted into the thinking that any one part has significance over the other. Each contribute to the all, and therefore each are equally important.
It is from this concept that the somewhat more understood ideology of Equivalent Exchange-
"Your Majesty!"
- derives from. One is a part of the all and many ones become the all, and it is those ones only that make up the-
"Your Majesty! Another citizen has requested an audience!"
If the book in his hands wasn't so old, he would have either crumpled both his fists among the pages-
Or chucked it at that annoying fool of an announcer.
But instead, he merely exhaled and shut his book. This was his job, he reminded himself. To do the best for his kingdom. All kingdoms consist of citizens, and it was his duty to look out for them.
'Without a king, there is no kingdom. And without a kingdom, there is no king.'
Each depends on the other.
That is what he firmly believed.
"Let the citizen enter," Edward ordered. He rested Foundations of Alchemical Concepts on his lap and drew himself tall on his throne as the announcer bowed and departed.
A few moments later, in came a timid-looking man dressed in blue. The material of his clothes were silk, which told of his wealth, but the lack of jewels around his neck and fingers spoke of either thriftiness or humility.
'Humility, at least,' mused Edward as the man threw himself upon the floor. "Rise, and speak," he commanded.
The man raised himself off the ground and clasped his hands together.
"Honorable Sultan, I have toiled and worked hard to gain my wealth. Now I am a merchant in the trade of oils from farther east, and I own much land. However, my lord…"
He lowered his eyes.
"My recent caravans, which I had invested a good deal of my fortune into, have been proclaimed lost in the deserts and mountains separating us from the lands further east. Now I find myself overwhelmed with debts and reconciliation payments, and what little I have left is slowly being consumed. I have no wife, but my children are afraid of hunger. What should I do?"
Eyes closed, Edward pondered over the situation. A merchant on the brink of losing everything. A troublesome problem indeed, though not a very uncommon one. However, this time children were thrown in the mix. That added more worries to the pile.
"How old are your children, merchant?" he asked. The merchant looked up in surprise.
"My youngest son is seven years old, my lord. My eldest is eleven. And my daughter is in her nineteenth year."
"Is she pure?" Edward inserted. His question was casual, but its true intent was still obvious.
Instead of backing up in horror, the merchant turned away in shame. "She should be, my lord. But…" he let out a dry sob. "She has recently been defiled by someone who I hope will be cursed until the day he dies."
A gasp spread throughout the room, and Edward frowned. If she was defiled, there was certainly no place for her at his court.
But then…there was a chance that…
'No,' he decided. He gripped the handles of his seat. 'Of course not. She will die long before that time arrives.'
These thoughts were futile. If there was anything he knew about being a sultan, it was that he should never bank hope on uncertain outcomes.
And to his great dismay, this outcome was indeed uncertain.
"…Here is my decision, merchant."
The merchant glanced back at him, apprehensive.
"Your youngest son shall work in my kitchens. Your eldest son shall work in my gardens. As for your daughter…"
He could see the merchant holding his breath, but chose not to be irked by it. "She shall be a maidservant. And you, you shall become one of my wine bearers."
Edward leaned on his elbow and stared down the open-mouthed man. "Your children will get fed. Your needs will be cared for. And unless I myself run out of money, you shall not have to worry about bankruptcy. In return, I shall have extra and useful work done around the palace."
Stammering from the merchant. "Y-your…My lord…w-what if my caravans are not indeed lost?"
Edward thought for a moment. "Well then. I will give you time to continue watching for your caravans. If they do not reappear in two months, then you and your children will have to enroll in my service. And if they reappear while you are in my service, then you will have to repay me with a value equivalent to what I had given you until then."
The merchant hesitated, then slowly nodded and bowed in front of the sultan.
"As you wish, my lord."
He admitted being a bit grouchy when the order first came, but it was a literal case of do or die. No one refused the sultan unless he was begging for harsh punishment- and he wasn't one to beg, in any case.
So, forsaking his previous plans to doze the afternoon away, he had said good-bye to his wife and had a palanquin prepared for a trip to the palace. Of course, all his wife did was mutter the words "Be careful" before turning back to her duties around the mansion. He had smiled at that. Unlike him, his wife held a degree of responsibility that was rare to be found in most officials.
Now in front of the throne room, he was skimming his eyes over the all-too-familiar etchings on the brass doors when they swung towards him in a sudden motion.
"Ah, greetings, Vizier Mustang. Here on business with the sultan as well?"
He bowed. "Indeed, Grand Vizier."
"Well then, don't let me delay you any longer. I shall take my leave," assured the Grand Vizier with a cheery grin as he strolled away. He bowed once more, then straightened and entered the audience hall.
The first sight that greeted him, of course, was the sultan reclining with his eyes closed.
It would never cease to amuse him how much the sultan liked to lounge around on his throne. True, he sat up straight when attending to his audiences with his citizens, but at all other instances he would lie sideways on the brass chair with a leg or two hanging off a handle. The way he liked to sprawl himself around almost reminded him of a cat-
"So you are here, Vizier Mustang."
The sultan's eyes were now wide open and staring directly at his countenance.
"…This is quite the surprise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were actually on time."
Mustang arched a brow, then gave one of his tiny smirks. "Remember, sultan, I used to say the same thing about your height."
It was as if he had used some form of sorcery. The sultan's entire form rippled and bristled in a single fluid movement, and his stare now turned into a glare that outright proclaimed that he wished he could burn his vizier on the spot. He opened his mouth to say something, but his rage was so great that he choked on every word attempting to come out of his mouth.
"Wh-! Y-! H-!"
Mustang glanced at the sultan's right hand, a snarling mass of trembling, chipped steel.
"How DARE you mention such a thing to your ruler, Vizier Mustang!" he finally blazed out. He stood and pointed a metal finger, indignation crawling over each and every feature on his face. "NEVER mention that again!"
He merely blinked, though on the inside he had erupted into laughter. This predicament used to be much more amusing when the sultan was younger and actually was short for his age. If height were ever implied in a statement directed towards him, he would burst out with an accusation that had nothing to do with the poor victim's actual words.
Ah, well, some things changed with time. For the sultan, that just happened to be both height and maturity.
The sultan huffed, then seated himself upright on his throne, re-clothing his automail arm with a long black sleeve as he did so. He cleared his throat.
"You do know why I called you here, correct?"
Mustang bowed to him as he replied. "My assumption is that you want to question me of any progress on my…duties."
Another huff. "What else?" was the snide retort.
"Well, I also assume that you won't be happy to know that I have had far less success in my findings. My apologies, sultan, but it appears that the Grand Vizier is far more talented in this aspect of our duty."
"Don't give me excuses, vizier."
He rose and saw the sultan gazing at the sunlight streaming through one of the windows, his crisp eyes fastened on the approaching sunset. The man had assumed another one of his sprawling positions again.
"I happen to know from my sources that you had delayed a full week before setting off on your most recent search. It appears that you had been…'caught up' in your duties by another one of your serving women. Or was it actually your wife this time?" This time Mustang found himself pinned by eyes that held a mixture of questioning and contempt.
He sighed, as though admitting defeat. "You know me perfectly, your Majesty. Forgive me for the delay. I couldn't resist, you see…"
"Pathetic, Vizier Mustang. How can a man possibly be so captivated by women?"
"The same way your new wife has captivated you, I presume."
The sultan stiffened, then frowned at his vizier. His fists had resumed clenching themselves again.
"I assure you, vizier, that that woman has not captivated me, and she neverwill. My reasons for keeping her alive until now are strictly the opposite of whatever you may be presuming."
That last word had been spat out with such venom that for a moment it had seemed tangible in the air around them…but then the sultan took a deep breath and it was gone.
A wave of the hand. "You are dismissed, Vizier Mustang."
The vizier bowed once more, then left, a slim smile covering his face.
His face betrayed nothing as he meandered towards the staircase at the end of the hallway. Each of his guards bowed respectfully as he strode past them, but he merely kept his gaze focused ahead of him.
His thoughts spoke of everything opposite his apathetic demeanor.
'The outright insolence of that vizier! If he hadn't performed faithful service under my father himself-'
Edward grunted then. He trudged up the staircase step by step, both fists clenched at his sides.
'To even indicate that I may be attracted to her in the slightest! Who does he take me for, a fool? No, he is the fool!'
He squeezed his metal fist tight as possible, as he often did when he was truly ang-
But then he gasped and paused at the top of the stairs. Just that moment, when he had tightened his right hand-!
Edward retightened his fist, and bit down hard on his lip as he felt it again- that painful twinge creaking straight up from his metal elbow and into his shoulder.
He sighed. Didn't the repairman attend to his automail arm a little over a week ago? Why was this happening again so soon?
"Looks like the repairs fell short," the sultan muttered to himself. Almost every day he reminded him that having automail limbs was a serious handicap when there were precious few who had even an inkling of the basics of automail repair.
He decided to let the matter go for the time being as he reached the door of his room. All he had to do was keep from clenching his metal fist so much, and he could do for a while without repairs. It wasn't that hard…well, as long as he could control his temper.
Edward sighed, and then noticed something strange.
His wife wasn't in her usual spot on the bed. Instead, she was huddled on the carpet with her little friend. What were they…
He narrowed his eyes.
"What kinds of things are you whispering about over there?" he coolly demanded as the door slammed shut.
He became even more suspicious when they both turned wide eyes to his, and his glance darted from one to the other before resting on his wife.
"Well?"
His wife frowned and folded her arms.
"Is it a crime to whisper around here?" she demanded. She stood in front of her friend, as though protecting her from his angry disposition- which for some reason, made him even angrier.
"It is a crime," he paced out, "when there are things occurring in the sultan's palace without the sultan himself knowing of it." The fury he held at bay bled through his voice. "Now, what are you two plotting? Tell me."
"What makes you think that we are plotting anything at all?" Each word that flowed out of her mouth rose in volume. "Is everything I do something to be suspicious about?"
Edward drew himself up to his tallest and looked down his nose at her.
Did she really ask that? Hah.
"What a foolish question," he intoned, his voice frigid and cold. "Of course it is."
Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing, so he assumed that he had rendered her speechless. Satisfied, he moved towards the bed.
"You're right. That was a foolish question."
He stopped in his tracks.
"You will never trust me, and I will never trust you," she stated matter-of-factly, and this time he found himself speechless. Regardless of his previous decisions, he clenched a fist.
The problem was not that she was right.
The problem was that he now lacked the opportunity to make her eat her words.
The Keyblade was pulsating fiercely in his grip, but he hardly noticed it. All he was aware of was the cold sweat trickling down his back, the hairs standing and rising on his neck…
And the realization that as of a couple of seconds ago, everything had gone wrong.
"YESSS…!"
That's right, yes.
"THIS IS THE POWER I WAS SEARCHING FOR!"
They were all totally scr-
"Kree!!" chattered the monkey behind him in a sudden panic. Sora whirled around.
"Abu, what's the- ack!"
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the frightened primate and leaped away to avoid a crash from a smoldering boulder.
Things were definitely not good. Now that that creepy Jafar had turned himself into a genie, he was redecorating the whole place to look like some messed-up inside of a volcano. Aladdin and Genie were somewhere around here- away from all the lava, he hoped- but all this red smoke was making it hard to see. And just where was Goofy and Donald?
'Not good. Not good!'
"Hah!"
Sora looked up as a flurry of wings flapped somewhere over his head and moved away. Great.
It was that annoying parrot.
"You annoying little do-gooders are in for it now!" it jeered. It dodged a little debris while hovering in the air. "No one can stand against Jafar!"
It was all Sora could do to keep from using a Fira to roast the parrot and leave him to the nonexistent fishes swimming around them.
But then…
'Wait, what's that?'
He squinted at an object the bird was holding in its claws.
"Hey Jafar!" the bird cawed as he continued flapping around. "What do I do with this thing? Hey! Jafar!"
…Okay, now things were looking up.
He took a deep breath, then steadied himself. There was nothing but lava underneath where the bird now hovered in the air, but if he timed this right…
A hop, skip, and a jump took him off of safe ground.
For one terrifying second he was falling towards death and flame, and then his Keyblade made a nuzzling motion in his heart and reminded him with a whisper of what he must do now.
"Blizzaga!"
His heart jerked- or did it leap?- and from his Keyblade spewed forth deep blue crystals and ice shards that froze the air surrounding them. He reached out and grabbed at the lamp in the bird's claws as he crashed into ice-hardened lava.
"Get away from me you cheapskate! Let go!" The parrot was straining and flapping his hardest, but Sora kept his grip and knocked him out with the hilt of his Keyblade.
"Well that was easy," he remarked as the bird fell limply to the ice. He clutched the item to his chest and looked around for Donald and Goofy.
'Where are they?'
"AND NOW YOU ALL ARE GOING TO BE HISTORY!"
"Found them," Sora muttered to himself as he caught sight of four figures trying their best to crouch away from the mad genie. He stepped forward and raised his prize.
"No, you are history, Jafar."
Jafar twisted like an unwound screw, indignation and mockery scrawled all over his monstrous red features. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU SCRAWNY FOOL?"
Given the circumstances, Sora pointedly ignored the insult to both his brain and brawn. "You heard me. Get back into your lamp, Jafar."
For a moment nothing happened, and he feared that he was the one who was history after all. But then a strange, sucking noise sounded from the lamp, just like the one he and Riku and Kairi used to make when draining the last of their strawberry smoo-
"NOOOOO!!" Jafar screamed as a large swirl of air encircled him. "THIS CAN'T BE!"
The doomed genie's hands scrabbled around as his smoky underbody was drawn into his new shiny home, and Donald scrambled away with a surprised "Quack!" after narrowly escaping a choking grab. Then Jafar's hands landed on something that made Sora consider the whole thing kind of ironic.
His little henchman.
Still a bit unconscious, it stirred at first, then jolted awake and tried his best to fly away once its foggy bird brain realized what was happening.
"No! Jafar! I didn't want this! Let me g-!"
The lamp clamped shut, and Sora felt a searing slash of white-hot fire shudder throughout his hand.
"Guess the henchman always gotta go where his master is, huh?"
"Sora!"
That was his only warning.
"Oomph!"
"Gosh, Sora, we all thought you was a goner! We're so glad you're safe!" Goofy exclaimed as he hugged Sora. Sora, on the other hand, felt far from enthused- just smothered and two inches from death.
"T-that's…great…"
"Lay off, Goofy! He looks like he's going to die!" Donald yelled, and Sora was dropped to the ground in one swift exhalation.
"Whoops. Sorry about that."
He gasped for air as he stood up. "No, no…it's…it's fine, Goofy."
"You guys alright? Sorry about the whole attacking you and stuff, but I really couldn't help myself," Genie remarked as he zipped around each one of them in turn. He zoomed around Aladdin. "What about you, ole buddy o' mine? Feelin' any stitches? Bruises? Any of those annoying back aches?"
Aladdin smiled at Genie's antics. "Nah, everything's alright."
Genie slowed. Donald turned, and Sora and Goofy each gave a doleful look of their own.
They could all tell that his smile was wistful and fake.
"It's about Jasmine, isn't it?" Sora asked, his own voice quiet. Aladdin nodded.
"Where could Jafar have taken her?"
"It's ok, Aladdin. Even if she is on another world, I'm sure she'll be alrigh…" he trailed off.
Why were Donald and Goofy looking at him like that?
"…What?"
Wham!
"Ow!" He clutched the side of his head. Tear droplets of pain welled up in his eyes as he looked at Donald, who was scowling with a wing outstretched. "What the heck was that for?!"
"You idiot!" the duck raged. "You just now broke one of the most important rules of world traveling! No interfering! Why I outta-"
Goofy came over and clamped a firm hand over Donald's beak before things could really get ugly. "Well Sora, what Donald really means is that you gotta be more careful. Dangerous stuff happens when you interfere, you kno-"
"Take me to this other world!"
And only now did Sora realize the extremity of what he had done.
'Oh, great…'
"Please! I'm begging you!" Aladdin pleaded. Now Sora had the uncomfortable feeling that the guy was about to go down on his knees. "Jasmine could be in trouble!"
"Uh…" The Keybearer shifted, awkward. Then, with his eyes on the ground in front of him…
"I can't."
Aladdin said nothing, but whether it was from shock or pain Sora didn't know, and he didn't think that he wanted to. "I mean…in times like this…well, what I mean to say is…um…"
He took a deep, shaky breath. "Taking someone into a world that isn't theirs…isn't something that I'm allowed to do."
Aladdin cast his eyes to the floor, and Sora swallowed- hard. "I'm sorry," he wanted to say, but he knew that those words would be pretty much meaningless right now.
"Hey Al, don't be so down!"
Genie swirled around Aladdin's shoulder and held out his brass lamp. "You still got one wish left, pal! All you gotta do is wish for Jasmine to be back where she belongs- right here!" Everyone fixed him with a pitying look, but his grin widened. "Aw, shucks, don't worry about me, you guys. I don't mind staying in this lamp for a few more centuries. I need to clean up the place anyways…"
Aladdin took the lamp in his hands, and his mouth curved into a grin that seemed more tired than relieved. "Yeah Genie, you're right."
"Genie…I wish for your freedom!"
Genie, who had certainly been expecting an order that would require his time-spatial abilities, had to force himself not to snap a second too soon. "Al…?"
That was all he could manage to say before three whirls of yellow-orange light encased his wrists and smoke-tail. The lights whirled and expanded and engulfed his entire form, and everyone around him heard a click, like a door being opened or shackles being unfettered.
In a burst of light, out popped Genie, complete with unshackled arms- and legs.
"Why did he do that?"
Winry closed her mouth and stared.
The sultan, for the first time since the story began, had just now asked a question about it.
A million thoughts raced through her head. He was asking a question about her story. He was…curious. That must mean that he cares about it, and if he does then Paninya's plan may actually…she held that thought as she sneaked a glance at her friend, but found to both her surprise and dismay that she was asleep.
"…Why did he do what?" Her voice was unsure, hesitant. She dryly noted that this was probably the first time she tried talking to him in a civil manner.
The rustle of bed sheets alerted her to his movements, and she heard a short, impatient sigh. "Isn't this one of those cliché stories where love supposedly conquers all?"
His wry comment, mixed with his bored voice, struck a flint edge somewhere. He was now sitting upright on the bed with an expression that, in her mind, was asking for a confrontation.
"What do you mean by 'cliché'? Is there something wrong with love being victorious?" She frowned at him What kind of person hated love?
To her chagrin, he smirked. "Looks like my grand vizier found me not only an uncouth wife, but a naïve one," he commented to himself, though Winry could hear his words as though he had shouted them all over the room. "Was your world so sheltered that you never knew the truth?"
"Sorry for being so unknowledgeable, dearest sultan," Acidic sarcasm dripped off every word. "What exactly is this 'truth'?"
The sultan's smirk widened. "The truth is this: Love is not life." When he saw the confusion spread across her face, he leaned near her, as though to clarify what he had just said. "Love is lies."
That last word rolled off his tongue like a large spider crawling onto her hand, and for a moment Winry found herself unable to breathe.
She regained her bearings and shook her head. "That's not true."
A scoff. "Either you are in denial, or you are more stupid than I had thought you were. Are you this new to how marriages truly are formed?"
"I know perfectly well that a lot of marriages are arranged, but that doesn't matter. Many of them turn out to be nothing if there is no love involved," she insisted, her voice stubborn. "In the end, it is love that decides the success of a marriage."
"What you are speaking right now is completely unfounded," the sultan just as stubbornly answered. His smirk was gone, and what was left on his face was the expression that one often has when trying to convince another of a theory or idea or opinion. "Marriage is not about love, it is about duty."
This time, it was Winry who scoffed. "What duty? I never knew that marriage was a job. After all, you certainly don't get paid for it."
She saw him clench his left fist as though he had wanted to grapple her right then and there.
'Let him try.'
"What I mean by duty," he gritted out, "is that if I told you to stand there and strip yourself, you would have to do it." He pointed a finger at some random spot in the room, but Winry was only paying attention to his face, her eyes wide and unbelieving. "Why? Because it is part of your duty as my wife."
It took only a second for Winry's jaw to drop. She found herself so choked up that words refused to let loose.
"Y-you pervert!" That was all she could say, but she didn't stop there. She reached and jammed a finger onto his nose as painful as she could.
"Mmph!" The sultan jerked back and held his nose, but Winry didn't see or smell any blood, so she assumed that he was alright. He lowered his hand and yelled, "How dare you!"
"I'm sure you would have done far worse, had I said the same thing to you."
She braced herself as the sultan opened his mouth…
…Only to see him halt as though he were a metal gear that had run out of use.
Wait…
Metal.
Winry watched in horror as this time, she did see blood.
It was dripping from the shoulder of the arm that held his automail, the arm that he now held to him as he gnashed his teeth in his pain. The arm that from first glance, she knew was far from satisfactory for a man his age.
For a second, Winry didn't know what to do. Then years of automail work came flooding through her mind and instincts, and she moved over to his side.
But before she could touch his arm, he shoved away and threatened her with a burning look.
"Leave me alone," he growled. Another twinge of pain must have beset him then, for he squeezed in his arm even tighter to his side and grunted.
Contradictory emotions bubbled within her. Despite everything, she was still a little…concerned about him. She chastised herself for it, but she couldn't help this feeling.
She was never able to ignore the pain of someone carrying automail.
"Are you deaf? Go away."
But even if he did need her help, he wasn't making it any easier for him to receive. Fine then. If he desired no help, she had no business trying to force it on him in the first place.
"Suit yourself," she declared, frustrated. What was she thinking, anyway? She had no obligations to someone she hated. She flung the bed sheets over her head. 'And at least the story isn't over yet,' she decided with an ironic bitterness.
The last thought she had before she drifted off to sleep was one of guilt.
The awful smell was the first thing that he noticed when he awoke. It penetrated his nostrils and made him cringe at the thought of exactly how much blood he must have spilled to make his surroundings smell so vile.
When he fully opened his eyes and sat up, the second thing he noticed was a hand that quickly drew away from his arm- a hand a bit too small to be his.
A sudden shift brought his wife into view, looking guilty as a common thief.
He jumped off the bed. "What the hell do you think you are doing!"
He made sure to conceal his metal arm as he moved further away from her. Angry eyes roved to examine her blood-stained hands and clothes. "Don't touch me!"
She fumed and put her hands on her hips. "Don't touch you? Pardon me for saying this, but I never before heard of a husband who could bear to refuse the touch of his wife!"
Edward ground his teeth in response. No one was supposed to touch him. No one was allowed to see him in any moment of weakness. And no one was to ever, ever imply that he may be…
He stormed out of their room, slamming the door in his wake.
Paninya found herself breaking out of sleep. What just happened? What was she doing just now?
The sunlight made her eyes squint as she sat up.
…Sunlight?
And then gasped.
"Paninya? What's wrong?"
Her shoulders sagged in relief. So Winry was okay. She didn't die…and their plan still has a chance of working. She grinned and got to her feet. "Mornin', Winry. Sorry for sleeping, I couldn't hel-"
Words clogged in her throat. What happened?
"Winry…why is there blood all over your clothes?"
A brief flash of anger flitted across her friend's eyes before she bent her head to examine the mess that covered her front. "Well…I don't think you would ever believe this, Paninya…but…"
She waited.
"I…fell and cut myself this morning. On my thigh. I think it was another of those pins or something, I don't really know how it happened…" she kept listening, but didn't pay attention to anything else that was being said. She knew what this meant.
Winry was hiding something- or trying to, at least.
"Winry, what are you-"
THUD.
They both jumped in startled fright as the door banged open. However, standing in the doorway was not the sultan or the maid who brought them breakfast, but rather two old maidservants. After a moment, they both bowed to Winry, and one of them beckoned to her.
"This way, Sultana," she said. Quiet and demure, her voice seemed gentle enough to calm the birds. "The sultan has requested that we take you to the baths." As though offering proof, the other maidservant revealed a starched white towel.
"What?" he friend breathed. Paninya agreed in her silence.
"This way, Sultana," they repeated, and with small gestures managed to lead Winry away. She gave one last, unreadable look over shoulder as the door slammed shut.
And Paninya was left all alone.
Edward was leaning to one side, his hand balanced on his chin, as the man beside him tinkered with his arm. He flinched as he felt painful twinges in his shoulder, but other than that he kept his face as blank as ever.
"…I do hope that you know what you are doing, Fuery," he deadpanned. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man stiffen and straighten his glasses.
"Yes, Your Highness," the man mumbled as he maneuvered a couple more wires near the shoulder blade. "This repair should keep your arm in good working order for about two more weeks at the most. However, I advise you to rest this arm as much as possible, Your Highness."
"Hm," was the reply. He had heard this advice before. However, he always tended to use it as though it were a real arm, an arm that did not need to adhere to such limitations.
'That woman…'
He furrowed his brow in thought. Indeed, his wife's actions concerning his arm were a bit strange.
The first time he had willingly showed her his arm, she hadn't acted afraid. Instead, she had merely gazed at it, as though…confused. But confused about what? Why would she be confused about him having an automail arm? Surely she saw it attached to him on the first night they met…
Was she confused about him displaying it? No, that couldn't be it. Maybe she was confused about…the quality of his automail, perhaps?
Yes, that was a much more probable solution.
But then…why would she be confused about its quality? He had paid good money for this automail, and they assured him that they offered the best in this region for someone of both his age and stature. His previous automail was made by an exceptional automail worker, but as of a couple years ago it proved to be too small, and Dominic's whereabouts by then were unknown. He had had to settle for a lesser-known automail worker who had assured him that this replacement would be good and sturdy for the next few years, so long as someone handy enough was around to keep it in working order from time to time.
Of course, the man could have been lying to him and taking advantage of his embarrassing naivety when it came to the automail field…but if he did, he was already safe in death.
But back to the matter at hand- why would she be confused about its quality? It is not as though she knew whether automail could look any better…
Or did she?
Edward blinked as it all started making sense. Her concerned face last night. Her rushing to his side, as though she could actually help him; moreover, her explicit invasion of his privacy this morning, as though she were inspecting something…
"Everything's done, Your Highness. Don't stretch it out too much this time," he heard Fuery comment as the man bent over to pack his tools. The sultan stayed on the couch he was lounging on and stood up only when the man left the room.
He glanced down at his automail hand, chipped and rusted and with a few dry flecks of blood and oil still on some of its fingers.
'Could it be?'
Could his wife actually know more about automail than most of the men in his palace?
He didn't exactly know when, but…soon. Yes, soon.
Soon, he would find out for sure.