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—
Tell me all about Xing, don’t hold back! I can’t believe Winry dragged me to Rush Valley for our honeymoon after we married. What a gear-head. How’s the miniature brat? -Ed
—
It comes as a revelation to him after the camels are unpacked, his things are settled, and Ling guides him to the inner court square, chattering non-stop about everything that’s changed (everything he’s changed). Al can’t get a word in edgewise, and it’s a long walk–Ling had mentioned in his letters that the summer court was large, but that’s a generous understatement—but he’s happier listening and nodding along anyway.
“You arrived at the perfect time,” Ling says, stopping abruptly by a bench couched heavily in delicate white blooms and tapering red calyxes. “Just before all the plum blossoms drop. How long are you staying?”
The stone tile beneath his shoes is already scattered with a fine layer of petals. It reminds him of snow. “I didn’t really have a set date. However long it takes me to learn the fundamentals of alkahestry, I guess?”
Ling’s mouth curls at the corners, greedy, secretive. “So two or three years.” Before Al can express surprise at such a tight timeline, Ling exclaims, “There you are! Took you long enough.”
“Oh, shut up,” a familiar voice snaps. “You’re dumb attendants kept holding me up! They seem to think I’ve got something to do with the mess you left behind turning down another one of your potential consorts!”
“Oops,” Ling chides, not sounding at all apologetic.
“Alphonse!”
Her glare spirits away, cheeks flushing against the pale, sweaty sheen of her excitement. She could take the place of any one of the flowers circling the air around them. “M—Mei! You—you’re…”
She would have grown in the time between then and now. He knows, of course he knows, but his memory of her is syrup-stuck in time, trapped in amber. The seven-foot version of him still looms over the diminutive-her. Even after it all, after he’d regained his body, she’d only come to his waist. She may only be two years younger, but she’s always been somebody to protect, what with her naive fantasies and easy, energetic enthusiasm, so this girl—woman?—stopped just short of him, coming up to his chin, is…
She laughs, bright and bubbly and familiar. “Not what you expected?”
Instead of the roomy robe and pants that used to swallow her, she’s stretched long in a red silk dress, spiraling in a blossom pattern. Her hair is braided in loops to either side of her head, cheeks less full but eyes still wide and wonder-filled. Shao Mei, balancing nimbly on her shoulder, hasn’t changed at all.
“Well—” Al stutters, trying to find words, “I just thought—it’s been so long and the trip across the desert was so arduous, I hadn’t given it much thought, I didn’t even stop to think how you might have changed—”
“Oh, but you thought of me?” she asks coyly, and his face heats.
“Of course he did,” Ling says, inserting himself, reminding Al this isn’t a two-person party. “He requested to learn more of alkahestry, and I told him you’d be perfect!”
The teasing glint in her gaze recedes, replaced with a comfortable ease. There’s no accusation or hurt on her face, but a strange seed of guilt sows itself in Al’s gut. “Of course I thought of you,” he says, compelled to correct no apparent wrong. “How couldn’t I? We’re friends and I haven’t seen you in so long!”
Ling snorts. “‘Friends?’ Maybe to you, but you’ve always been Mei’s knight in shining armor.”
Mei rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it, choosing instead to land a lethal-looking punch to the shoulder of the man who’s supposed to be her emperor. “Have you eaten?” she asks Al, smiling kindly.
Ling whines about the inevitable bruise, so Mei returns to berating him. Her childhood ferocity slips over the new, adult understanding she’d peered at Al with only seconds ago, jarring in its contrast. Al laughs along with their antics, a little uneasy, a little uncertain.
—
All to say, Xing is beautiful. It’s a shame you couldn’t come before, but now you (and Winry) know that you’ll have to make a trip out of it soon!
Mei seems well. I’ll be studying under her, but she’s pretty busy, so we’ll start once I’m fully settled. And you might want to rethink calling her “miniature.” She’s taller than she was two years ago. -Al
—
Al is used to studying with books and papers, chalky palms and hand-to-hand combat that leaves purple pools across his skin. He’s used to being exhausted at the end of the day, dropping into dreamless sleep without effort, so the slow-breathing, slow-moving nature of what Mei is teaching him leaves him restless.
“Stop fidgeting,” Mei shushes, gentle note of her voice whispering easily behind the dark of his shut eyelids. “And stop thinking. You’re so noisy!”
“You can hear people think now?” whines Al, lids popping open, only to shut again at the sight of Mei’s eerie, shut-eyed disapproval. Shao Mei wears a matching expression, which is equally as unsettling. “What were you doing these last two years to pick up mind-reading?”
“It’s not anybody, it’s you! You and your brother both!” She harumphs.
“I just didn’t expect so much sitting and breathing.”
“I’ll have plenty of reading for you later, but meditation is best taught by doing.”
Al sighs—then pretends it’s a long breath he’s drawing when Mei nudges him pointedly with her knee. “You said you do this how long everyday?”
“Not long enough, really, only a few hours—”
“A few hours?!”
“Shhhhhh!” hisses Mei. “Don’t get all riled up! You’ll start with just two minutes for now. I know what I’m doing, so you can trust me! You’re not the first person I’ve taught, you know?”
That’s news to him. His mouth pops open to pursue that line of questioning, only for him to grunt at the elbow she snaps into his ribs. “Hey!”
“Stop thinking. It’s only two minutes, Alphonse.”
She chastises him with the sort of weight only an adult can affect, but he can hear her smiling.
—
Alkahestry is so different from alchemy, brother. Mei keeps talking about breathing and “feeling it moving through me until I can’t tell where I end and the earth begins,” but I really have no idea what that means. She’s assigned me readings, but none of them say anything she isn’t already telling me whenever we train. There’s so much standing still and keeping balanced and “emptying your mind.” -Al
—
“Lookit that!” Ling exclaims, wide-mouthed grin creeping high up his cheeks and into his eyes. Al yelps in surprise, wobbling at the ankle. “You’ve got our resident Westerner practising Tai Qi, Mei!”
Al immediately collapses, and Mei groans. She bats away Ling, who’s leaned in too close for comfort. Shao Mei, who Mei turns over to Ling for their combat sessions, scrambles from Ling’s cloaked shoulder to Mei’s bare one. “Do you have to keep checking up on him? He’s doing great.”
“Oh, it’s not Al I’m worried about,” Ling says, smile turning slick. Mei frowns, but before she can interrogate him, he invades Al’s space, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “You look hilarious moving like that in your clothes.”
“They don’t exactly sell Xingese clothing in Amestris.”
“Yeah, and what a shame,” Ling sighs. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything!”
“As if,” Mei breathes, rolling her eyes as Ling strolls away. Then she assumes her opening pose again, face straight towards Al. “From the beginning. Really concentrate on breathing slow and how that feels in your body before you move on to the next pose, okay?”
He nods, already inhaling. Shao Mei takes a seat on his head, and her weight is unexpectedly centering.
—
Two minutes of meditation become five, become 15. To his pleasant surprise, he begins to understand what Mei means when she tells him to feel it in the ground. There are moments where he seems to bleed into the earth beneath his feet.
“That’s the Dragon’s Pulse, although I guess in your case right now, it’s the Dragon’s Cardiac Arrest.” She laughs at her own joke.
He can’t help it if he grins along at his own expense. This Mei, who pokes at his faults, feels more accessible than the Mei of two years ago who’d rarely accused him of any wrong. “What I don’t get is how this translates into combat between opponents.”
“That’s because you’re still thinking of combat from a Western perspective. Here, get on your feet!”
Al does as he’s commanded, only to falter when Mei assumes a defensive stance. “Wait—”
She doesn’t. She steps into fleeting, graceful action, twisting towards him. When her hand flies toward his head, he blocks quickly. “Don’t hold back!” Mei chimes, other hand already swinging towards him. Al blocks again with one arm, then grabs, swinging her over. He’s momentarily surprised at her weight—he remembers her being lighter, but then again, the last time he’d held her had been when he was seven feet tall.
Instead of slamming to the ground, she catches herself with her hands, seeming almost buoyant as she lets her elbows bend, lets her arms bounce her back, and winds her other leg around his arm. Then he’s soaring through the air. He catches himself before he slams into dirt, recovering immediately and throwing himself back at her with a roundhouse.
She catches the blow with an easy arm, then the next with her other hand, over and over and over, moving only a few inches every time, leading him around the pavilion. He doesn’t know how long this goes on, only that it’s long enough for sweat to roll down his temple, to fill his mouth.
“Oh,” she says suddenly, “there it is.”
He barely hears it, too busy lunging towards her. Her body follows his, letting herself twist as he falls too far forward. The scant inch of her wrist deflecting his punch twists, her fingers fold around his arm, and then she sends her knee up—
Al waits for the blow, the gut-bust of a jab to his stomach, but it never comes. When he opens his eyes warily, teeth clenched, Mei is standing across from him, eyes filled with mirth. “And that’s what your problem is.”
“Huh?”
“You fight thinking every blow has to be the last one. You punch with the aim to win and you think your opponent does the same. But this,” she points her finger between the two of them, “is about efficiency.”
“Efficiency?”
“The quickest, easiest reply to whatever question or comment somebody gives you. It’s almost like a waiting game.”
“Huh…”
“At least you’re better than your brother. I think being called short all his life made him think he had something to prove. At least you know how to wait more than he does.”
“Well, how can I fight like you, then?”
“What do you think I’m trying to teach you?” She laughs. “That’s enough for today, though. I’ve got an appointment I have to be at. See you tomorrow!”
She disappears skipping through one of the stone arches. It isn’t until Al forces himself to his tired feet that he realizes: where he’s dripping with sweat, Mei had been only shiny with it. Huffing in humor, he sets for his room.
—
Huh, is that so? I guess that makes sense, alchemy always did seem more explosive, what with all the clapping and slapping. No wonder Ling couldn’t perform alkahestry, I can’t imagine that guy keeping still for even a minute. Hey, you think Ling would’ve been better suited to alchemy?
Anyway, you’ll get the hang of alkahestry, I know it. You always were the more patient one. But just know there are some things you shouldn’t wait around for for too long, alright? -Ed
—
There’s a knock on his door one morning. When he opens it, an attendant bows over the something-shiny laid across his arms. There’s a pair of slippers sitting atop the bulk. “A gift from the emperor.”
Al thanks him profusely, bowing every time the attendant bows. Once the door finally shuts, he unravels the gift. Upon closer inspection, it’s a pair of linen trousers and a silk brocade shirt in a familiar blossom pattern cut similarly to what Ling had worn in Amestris. Al slips into the outfit, clasps the frog buttons, and finds the mirror. The picture he makes is odd, almost laughable, but also somewhat appropriate.
Mei seems to think differently when she sees him. Her face bursts cherry-red. “What are you wearing?!” she yelps, voice high. “Who gave you that? No, nevermind, I know exactly who it is!” She drops into a dangerous mumble, eyes murderous.
“Is it alright? Should I change?”
“No, no, it’s fine, and it’ll make everything easier for you without all those seams. C’mon, sit. We’ll get into sequences after.”
He knows better than to ask what sequences are right away, not when he’ll find out in a short hour or two anyway. Instead, he takes a seat beside her, shuts his eyes, and breathes slow and even. In a matter of minutes, he melts into place, feeling the way the earth breathes with him.
In another few minutes, he could swear he feels Mei’s breath moving through him, too.
—
Winry loved the dress you sent, which is fine, she can wear whatever the hell she wants. But what am I supposed to wear this to?! Amestris isn’t exactly teeming with Xingese weddings! And on top of that, Armstrong happened to be visiting when we got the package, so now he’s crying all over me all the time asking for a set, too. I told him they probably don’t make clothing in his size over there!
They probably don’t make clothing in his size anywhere! Didn’t Mustang say Armstrong had his uniform made by his family tailor?! Hey, why does Ling know my and Winry’s exact measurements anyway?! -Ed
—
“Too far apart.” She knocks an ankle against his leg gently, nudging it in just enough for the tension to slip out of his thighs. “And drop your elbows a bit. Relax. Yep, feel the difference? It shouldn’t feel like you’re holding yourself in place. Let your body hold itself up. Listen to it. Okay, next!”
He sweeps into the next pose, feeling the line of energy move with his surroundings, guiding him into place. When he looks at Mei for her tutelage, she’s blinking at him owlishly. Suddenly, she flushes with excitement. “You felt it!”
He grins. “I did.”
“Easy, right?!”
“Yeah!”
“And it’s only been four months! I knew you’d be fast! You always were amazing!”
She’s giddy with accomplishment, and her praise reminds him of the hero-worship of her younger days. Except instead of the single-minded devotion that used to lay thick across her gaze, she steps away, eyes deep in thought, no doubt deciding where to lead him next. His chest draws tight, an unusual discomfort. “Well, I’ve got a great teacher—”
“There you are!” Ling’s voice trails in through the entrance. “Your guest is here.”
Mei blushes to her ears, glancing uneasily at Al before scrambling to Ling’s side and addressing Al. “We’ll stop here for today. Make sure to read the Nei yeh along with the Chuang-tzu!”
“I can meet later today, I don’t have any—”
“Oh, no, no,” Ling chides. “My favorite little sister”—he dodges her well-aimed jab—“will be preoccupied for the rest of the day. That’s how these things go, don’t they?”
Mei shoots him the deadliest of glares before stomping moodily off in the direction Ling had come. Ling chuckles.
“What things?” Al asks in curiosity.
“Poor girl has to entertain another one of her many suitors,” Ling sighs loftily, waving a hand vaguely as he begins to follow the trail Mei left behind. “It’s a pain.”
Speechless, Al can only stare as he keeps up. “Mei?” he asks dumbly. “Suitors?”
“Yup, and enough to line up around the court. Her renown precedes her, y’know.”
It’s the first Al is hearing of it, but with more thought, it’s obvious. She’s a great teacher, and she’s always been a deft fighter. Alkahestry is only the beginning of a long list of her talents. “Isn’t she kind of young?”
“Negotiations can take upwards of two years, so we start early.”
“Negotiations?”
“Dowries, duties, you know how it is.”
Except he really doesn’t. When Ed had proposed to Winry, it’d been simple (and hysterically bad).
“Like I said: a total pain. Especially in my ass. All she’s gotta do is entertain him and his family for the day while pretending she’s the sweet girl she isn’t, and completely incapable of kicking his ass six ways to Sunday if he so much as blinks wrong.” Another beleaguered sigh. “It’d be easier if she weren’t a princess.”
Princess. Al stumbles on the title. Mei has always been just a girl to him, but she is a princess, and with being a princess comes all sorts of customs, he imagines. Obligations and sacrifices. “Is this what she wants?” he can’t help but ask.
Ling shrugs. “I told her she didn’t have to, that I’d provide for her as long as she needs, but she’s hellbent on it. Something about her family and a burden and something something, I don’t know, I was hardly listening. You wouldn’t believe the kind of paperwork they have me doing all the time.”
“I see.” There’s an inexplicable, persistent itch beneath the collar of his shirt. “I guess it hasn’t been that long, if she’s not engaged yet.”
“Oh, it’s been months,” Ling snorts. “The moment she turned 15, we started receiving letters. She’s almost as sought after as I am. Maybe news from Amestris travels farther than I thought”—he flashes a toothy grin—“or maybe everybody’s heard of my favoritism. Either way, she’s turned every prospect down so far. Nobody’s made it to her final round interview! The matchmaker is losing her mind over it."
“Final round interview?”
“Mei requested she get the final say in any prospect,” Ling lets loose another dramatic sigh, “with a fight. As if finding a husband wasn’t already hard enough, what with her sky high standards.”
“Right,” Al says absent-mindedly.
“Anyway, I’ve got paperwork! See you at dinner, if they’ll let me out!”
—
You can at least wear the pants when Winry makes you weed the yard. They’re pretty comfortable, brother! We can spar in them together when I’m back; you’ll get the appeal then.
Did you know Mei’s been interviewing suitors? And a lot of them, too! I never would have figured. Ling made sense, prince-then-emporer and all (though he seems oddly stubborn about it. I haven’t seen Lan Fan around, but I guess I’m not supposed to, otherwise she wouldn’t be very good at her job). News of what she did in Amestris seems to have traveled farther than we expected. -Al
—
Figuring it out once opens all the doors. His progress grows exponentially until he finds one day that the sun has long risen since they began meditating. He keeps up with her in their occasional spars, though he’s always the first to slip.
After another long, afternoon fight, he falls to the floor with a groan, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield from the bright sunlight. “Why can’t I get the hang of this?”
He hears the rustle when she settles beside him, feels her breath beneath dirt and stone until it presses through his back. The rest of the earth breathes with them.
“You’re doing fine,” she giggles. “It’s only been a few months! All it is is a conversation, Alphonse. I start, you answer, and we keep going back and forth. Once you know every way the dialogue can go, you won’t even have to think about it.”
“Couldn’t it technically go on forever?”
“Yes, but not many people have that kind of patience.”
“I’m surprised you do!”
“Hey!” She shoves his shoulder with a foot. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Laughing, Al comes up to a seat, catching the next punch she throws when his mirth doesn’t stop. “You don’t seem like the patient type, is all!”
“I’ll have you know, I’m extremely patient! Especially when I want to be!”
“Ah, so you just never want to be, then.”
“See? You understand.” Her mischievousness turns sweet. “You’re the singular exception!”
“Me?”
“Yep.” Her nose wrinkles, eyes lighting again with a tease. “How else would I handle training you?
“Hey!”
This time, she’s the one to laugh, and he feels his heartbeat with it.
—
Yeah, I’m not surprised to hear that at all. Ling never shuts up about how much work they’ve got him doing, which can only mean he’s twice the handful to his cabinet. I can’t imagine the nightmare marrying him off would be. That miniature brat’s no better!
Hey, so, Al, how would you feel about being a babysitter? Don’t ask questions, just answer. -Ed
—
When Mei appears in the square that morning, she brings with her a pair of matching brushes, what looks to be a stone of some sort with a block of charcoal, and two sets of scrolls. Al watches as she spreads it all across one of the carved, wooden tables. Once she’s done, she sits and pats the space beside her. “Have you eaten?”
He nods. “Should I not have? Is this going to make me sick?” He’s all too familiar with the nausea that comes with an intense training session now.
She titters. “No, you’ll like it. You’ll be good at it.”
She goes about scrubbing the block of charcoal into the stone. When she produces a flask of water and pours it in, Al realizes it’s an inkwell. The pieces come together. “Really?” He can’t help the note of excitement.
She laughs out loud. “Yep! Here.” She hands him one of the brushes, then dips her brush and begins to draw a purification circle. Al, already familiar, draws his own. Pleased, she sets her brush down. “Alright, now conjure whatever into my circle from yours. Feel the lines of energy connecting you to everything, and push qi into the one that moves from yours to mine.”
It’s easier said than done. Every-so-often, there’s a spark of something, but he loses the trail before it can reach her circle. It’s deliriously frustrating when the circles are so close together. The sun is dripping into the horizon by the time Mei declares them done.
“You do this every time?” asks Al, exhausted. “The lines cross everywhere, how do you not confuse them when you’re trying to follow one?”
“Haven’t you been reading?” Mei taps the wooden surface. “How many elements are there?”
“Five.”
“And what are they?”
“Fire, earth, metal, water, and—” Ah.
Mei smiles at him knowingly. “Wood is easiest for you because it’s stable. It’s meant to ground things, like tree roots. We’ll move onto metal next, which is harder only because it’s made of so many alloys, though it shares the stability wood has. Earth after, then water, and lastly fire.”
“You can do everything you do with just five elements?”
She contemplates his question, mouth puckering with thought. “Essentially. With enough practice, you begin to recognize just how much of each element any ‘thing’ has. Their pulses resonate differently. I can feel the difference between teak and mahogany, for instance, or that one of the rabbits of the two behind us is male while the other is female.”
“That’s incredible, Mei. You’re incredible.”
She flushes, eyes darting away in sudden bashfulness. “You’ll catch up quickly! It’s in your nature.”
“Can you feel that, too?”
She’s hesitant, but meets his teasing gaze from beneath her lashes. “No. That’s information I earned.”
She gets up to leave, bidding him a good evening on her way out, that she’ll see him tomorrow. When she’s long gone, he wonders if she feels the way his heart stutters from across the palace.
—
Well, it’d depend on whose baby it was, wouldn’t it? I’d be a little terrified of any baby an Armstrong might have, for one thing, and same with if teacher had ever had one. But I’m sure Elicia would have been great to babysit.
Why? -Al
—
He conquers wood in another month. Metal comes in half the time, but trying to manipulate the elements that he’s described as “more alive” is like starting from square one. The energy lines from plant to plant squirm, and though they’re significantly slower than the lines Al can detect from the burbling stream outside the Inner Court, they still evade his metaphorical grasp.
“Don’t stifle the energy,” Mei admonishes from her comfortable seat on the bench, watching him loom over his purification circle in the dirt. “Don’t try to control it. Just let it be.”
“It moves too much!” Al exclaims, exasperated.
“So you move with it. Where it pushes, you pull, and where it pulls, you push. Back and forth. Be patient with it.”
Al blinks at her, mouth parted in surprise. While he still isn’t as good as she is in combat, he puts up more of a challenge these days. “Huh,” he mutters, then shuts his eyes and concentrates. The leylines come to life beneath his palms, threading between, under, around each other. One steady beat draws him in. Several other beats trail at different distances, but he can feel the way they twine. Instead of trying to force them into an equal length, he adjusts his energy to meet them where they are, drawing back when he feels the natural resistance in the original lines, surging forward when they ease away. He feels the energy speed up, accelerating towards its goal.
Suddenly, Mei gasps, claps, and Al’s eyes open. In the purification circle opposite him, a sapling has sprouted despite the winter weather. From its singular branch, a plum blossom springs forth, pale and fragile but there.
“I did it!” he blurts, collapsing from his crouch. The bloom shudders. Before the petals can drop, he plucks it from its perch, holding it out to Mei. Her eyes widen, and Al realizes belatedly what it must look like. “It’s—Thank you! For being so patient with me.”
Before Mei can answer, Ling strides in, robes trailing behind him. “You’re wanted in the Palace of Eternal Joy.” He spots the flower between her and Al and raises his eyebrows. “Should I tell them you’re busy?”
“N-n-n-n-no!” Mei yelps, shooting to her feet. “I’ll be right there! Thank you!”
They watch her sprint away, leaving a plume of dust behind her. “What is it this time?” Al asks.
“Oh, just yum cha with another suitor.”
“Oh, right.”
“They’re preparing tea and dim sum in my palace banquet hall as well. Interested?”
“No, that’s fine, but thank you. I think I’ll go back to my room.”
“Suit yourself!”
Ling disappears with a sweep of his robes, so Al departs too, his chest drawn tight in that odd way again.
—
Well, I might as well come out and say it. I thought it’d still be a work in progress by the time you replied, but looks like we got lucky.
Winry’s pregnant.
So you don’t have much of a choice anymore. You’ll be babysitting when you get back, and teaching this tyke alkahestry, if you can’t remember boring alchemy anymore. No rush, though. Don’t want you coming back only half-learned! This kid deserves your full-fledged knowledge. -Ed
—
“A baby?!” Mei squeals, clutching her hands, starry-eyed. “How romantic! What are they going to name him?!”
“I don’t know! I don’t even know if it’s a boy, I kind of think she’ll be a girl.”
“Well, Winry was born on the third of December, wasn’t she? In 1899? When did they conceive?”
Al turns a bright shade of red, stuttering nonsensically. “I don’t—I wouldn’t know when the baby was conceived! And I’m not asking!”
“Do you know what she’s been craving? Sweet or salty?”
“No! They didn’t tell me anything except that I’m the designated babysitter once I get back!”
Mei’s frenzy cools a few degrees, though her expression remains pleasant. “Then you’ll be going back soon?”
“No, brother told me to finish up here before I go back. Sounds like he wants me to teach the baby alkahestry.”
“That would be nice. Bring some of Xing back with you.”
After the heat of her initial enthusiasm, it feels unduly somber. Al hastens to fill in the gaping space. “You could come with me when I go back! There’s definitely enough room for you to stay for a bit.”
She seems to inspect him for a second before smiling to herself. “I don’t know if I can justify the journey for any length of time shorter than a few months, and there’s too much for me to do here to be gone that long. Maybe once things settle for me, I can manage a short visit.”
Al has no idea what to say. She isn’t wrong, but her proposed solution rings empty—he snags especially on her wording. She doesn’t need to say outright what it means for things to settle for her, he can fill in the gaps. But it rubs him the wrong way.
“Are you in a rush to—to get married?” Can he even call it that? Marriage, to him, is a mutual agreement, not a lopsided negotiation.
“I’m right on time, actually,” she jokes, but Al can’t bring himself to laugh. “By the time everybody’s agreed on my dowry and the expectations they have for me once I move into my husband’s home, I’ll be of age.”
“You’re just… don’t you think you’ll feel young?”
She peers up at him carefully. “I’m not sure, I’ve never been 17. Do you feel ready to marry?”
Heat rises to his face. “N-n-no! Not at all! I’m too young—Brother and Winry are an exception, but even then, they were 19—I couldn’t until at least then, at least, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if—and I’m here, doing all this, so I don’t even have time to think about—I’ll worry about it when I get back to Amestris!”
Her gaze is unreadable, but she breaks into a smile. “Well, men are slower than women, aren’t they? I’m sure I’ll be ready in another two years. It’s my duty, after all.”
“Duty?”
She nods. “Ling says he’ll provide for me as long as I want, but I can’t be a burden on the court like that. I’d be taking all their time and resources without giving anything back. All of the daughters feel the same way, whether Ling knows it or not. We know the most responsible thing we can do is marry away. And plus, we can’t make our families take care of us when they’re at the age where they’re meant to be taken care of themselves.”
“But they’re your family! They’re supposed to take care of you—”
“Aren’t they people, too? And when some of them are nearing the end of the Pulse like that, the least we can do is give back to them what they gave to us. I can’t do that properly if I’m hanging around here, letting them worry about me because they can’t help it.”
“It just seems so… unfair.”
“Maybe to you, but it’s about balance, Alphonse. My family will receive daughters for their sons to take care of them just as they’ll send away their daughters to take care of their in-laws. And why do you think the negotiations take so long? They’re making sure their daughters are taken care of properly so they can finally stop worrying.
“If you only look at it from a single point in the Dragon’s Pulse, it seems unfair, but that’s not how you’re meant to look at the Pulse. If you follow the flow—if you let yourself go forward when it goes back, and back when it forces forward—it’s nothing more than maintaining balance in the universe.”
He can’t find the words, can’t seem to ask the right question and get the right response to settle the turbulence in his stomach. Hearing that her suitors are thoroughly scrutinized should give him peace, but all it does is make him grit his teeth. If you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all. “Sounds like equivalent exchange.”
Mei laughs. If she hears the note of bitterness in his words, she doesn’t let on. “A little bit, I guess. Less rudimentary, I like to think, but that’s just my opinion.”
He can’t deny her point. Amestris is, after all, a much younger country than Xing, where they’ve had more time to develop their ideals. It makes him wonder, though: if he and Ed had been born here, raised here, how different would things have turned out?
He shakes the thought off. What’s done is done. He smiles sideways at Mei, brushing off his frustration. “What’s sweet and savory cravings got to do with the baby, anyway?”
Her mouth pops open. “Don’t you know?! Craving salty foods means the baby’s a boy, and sweets means a girl!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Al guffaws.
“Ask your brother and see! You’ll be eating your words!”
Her laughter joins his, bright and shiny, and there’s the fleeting thought that one day, that sound will be somebody else’s accompaniment.
—
BROTHER! That’s amazing! Congratulations, you and Winry both!
If you say so—but let me know the moment you need me back! Otherwise I don’t expect to be back for at least another year. Mei hasn’t even started me on the medical branch of alkahestry. I’ve only barely got a grasp on combat-alkahestry. I can only project my transmutations half the distance of hers right now.
By the way, how’s Winry eating now that she’s got the baby? Is she baking a lot of pies, or is Granny making stew for her all the time? -Al
—
When he arrives at their usual meeting spot, it isn’t Mei he finds waiting for him. Instead, Ling loiters around the usual bench, inspecting the budding branches of the plum blossom trees. At the sight of Al, he lights up.
“Mei had an unexpected caller, so I’m here in her stead!”
The first half of his sentence alone is enough to drive Al back to his room, but he resists his idiocy. “Again? Isn’t it rude for them not to give a warning?”
“Sons! Their parents will move heaven and earth for them, am I right?” Ling chides, grinning. “Can’t be helped though. What do you say to a fight?”
Can’t it, though, Al wants to counter, but he doesn’t. “Alright. Do you mind if I practice ranged transmutations?”
“Be my guest. Lan Fan won’t let anything happen to me.”
He sets up a purification circle at his feet, then withdraws a kunai tagged with a purification circle, hanging off its end. “Y’know, I’m kind of offended she hasn’t stopped by to say ‘hi’ yet. It’s been a year!” He launches the kunai.
“She takes her job very seriously!” Ling dodges the kunai deftly, though it’s a close call. He gives a low whistle. “Manipulating the wind already? You might be Mei’s best pupil.”
Ling launches himself straight at Al. “I try.” He feints with Ling’s forward propulsion, grabbing his shoulder to twist him around.
Ling turns with the force, sending Al around. They move in tandem like this for the longest time, catching blows and pushing back where there’s give. Ling provides no leeway, as good at balancing the push-and-pull as Mei is. The only reassurance he offers that he isn’t having the easiest time, either, is the line between his brows and the straight set of his mouth. Still, Ling’s forehead glints only slightly under the sun while Al’s eyes sting with sweat.
Eventually, it’s Al that slips up first, stumbling on how to respond to an especially quick turn-of-phrase from Ling. It doesn’t help that Ling, in the midst of such a sudden jab, quips, “It’d be great if I could marry Mei off to someone like you, huh?”
Al falls flat on his face almost comically. Spluttering through dust and dirt, he pushes himself up. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Well, you can keep up with her!” Ling offers a hand, then hoists him up.
“I’m nowhere near her level,” he says, brushing himself off in an effort to avoid Ling’s smiling face. “That would take me years. Way more than I planned to spend here.”
“But you don’t expect her to slow herself down for you, do you?”
Al frowns. “What do you mean?”
“What, Mei hasn’t told you?” Somehow, Ling’s grin grows wider. “Interesting. There’s a certain way things are done here, my friend.” He slings an arm over Al’s shoulders. “Xingese women are expected to be modest, meek, and obedient.”
“What—”
“Right?! Mei, meek? Who’s ever heard of it? There’s no way. And you wanna know the kicker? Of every candidate that’s gotten far enough to fight her, not a single one’s accepted the offer. I mean, who wants a wife that you know could beat you down if she really wanted to?”
“But Lan Fan—”
“Lan Fan’s lineage is for producing military protection for the Emporer, she doesn’t have to marry off as long as there’s some body in her family producing sons and daughters. But Mei’s a princess. That’s prime marriage material.”
He kind of wants to sock Ling in the face, but if what his friend is saying is true, it’s not Ling’s fault. More importantly, Al would never get away with it, not as long as Lan Fan is watching. “She’s expected to tolerate that?”
“Women have been doing it for centuries, what’s another one?” Ling slinks off him, folding his hands behind his head to look at the sky. “But nah, that’s probably why Mei asks them to fight her. All that Amestris individualism has rubbed off on her, I guess. You guys get some things right.”
“I have a hard time believing she would have been okay with it even before coming to Amestris,” mumbles Al. Ling laughs.
“Yeah, you’re right. If she’d been that kind of person, she never would have run off to find the Philosopher’s Stone to begin with, huh?” He hums, contemplative. “I guess for every person resigned to tradition, there’s gotta be another too headstrong for it. Wonder how many other Mei Chang’s are out there giving their clans a hard time!”
None, Al wants to say. There’s plenty of women who can hold their own —he can name several he knows personally— but there’s only one Mei Chang.
—
Take your time, Al, seriously. I have to figure out how to take care of my own kid, too! Plus, you’ll be much more help if you know how to heal wounds. I’ve got a feeling there’ll be a lot of those for everybody involved.
I mean, she won’t stop eating pickles and salt pretzels with mustard. Why? -Ed
—
Mei sets the letter down, mouth set in certainty. She nods. “A boy.”
“I really think it’s a girl.”
“You’ve got no basis for that!”
“Neither do you!”
“But I do! She’s craving salty food, that means he’s a boy!”
“That’s no basis—”
“You just wait, Alphonse Elric. You better have recompense ready for me the moment Winry delivers that baby boy!”
“You’re ridiculous!”
The way she laughs and the way she looks at him—something thick settles in Alphonse’s stomach.
—
The plum blossoms bloom and fall again in the time it takes him to extend his range and output, turning tiny saplings into towering arbors from lengthy courtyard distances. They leave their usual spot in the courtyard to train by the stream. Every morning, Mei hikes up the cuffs of her trousers to sit on the bank, legs dangling in the water to expel the summer heat. Every evening, Al collapses beside her, unable to pull the rest of his body out of the current in his exhaustion.
“You’re close,” Mei assures. “The jump from earth to water is much smaller than the one between metal and earth, and once you understand water, fire is only a little harder. The traditional way of learning would have been much harder!”
“What’s the traditional way?”
With the tip of one of her discarded shoes, she draws out a pentagram. At each point, she etches out the Xingese characters for one element. Then she connects each word, creating a pentagon around the star. “I started you at wood, which is how most students begin. But next is supposed to be fire, then earth, then metal, and last, water.”
Considering how much he’s struggling with water, Al can’t even begin to imagine dealing with fire so soon after wood. “Why doesn’t everybody learn it the way you’re teaching me, if it’s easier?”
She smiles. “It’s only easier for you. You see wood and metal as stable solids; they aren’t going anywhere, so I started you there. And to you, water is freewheeling and shapeless but containable, while fire’s excitable and uncontrollable.”
“All of that’s what science shows.”
“Sure, but Xing understands the elements differently. Everybody in Amestris thought Mr. Mustang’s flame alchemy was the strongest kind of alchemy, but that’s because you all think fire can destroy anything with enough power or time. In Xing, though, fire is the second stage of growth. It’s looking to expand, to be alive. Mr. Mustang’s alchemy is powerful because of that—because of the fire itself and what it wants, not because fire can be destructive. It’s pretty cooperative, actually. So after the stability of wood, we learn fire.
“Water, on the other hand, is the dying stage. It’s the Dragon’s Pulse looking to leave the universe. Water will always carve its own course no matter how much you try to contain it if you only give it enough time. We consider water mastery the highest measure of skill, because it means you can control the element looking to escape. So much of the human body is made up of water, too, but I’m sure you know that.”
He does, down to the percentage of hydrogen and oxygen. “Wow.”
“Mhm.”
Somehow, the sun is setting. It dyes the river orange. “If I haven’t already told you, you’re an amazing teacher, Mei.”
Maybe she flushes, or maybe it’s just the sky against her skin. “Better than the first time I taught you alkahestry?”
Al laughs. “Much.”
“Thank you.”
“Now can you help me out?”
She laughs and takes his hand. The water is cold with the dusking day, but her touch burns hot against him.
—
Snow piles on top of the stone benches littered around the courts. Mei sets a candle on the pentagram Al has carved through the blanket of snow covering the carved wooden table. The palace square is quiet, not even birds chirping. Occasionally a straggler or few will pass through, but he and Mei are the most frequent occupants. It’s essentially become theirs.
She strikes a piece of flint, setting the candle wick alight. “For now, work on melting the snow.” She motions to the other pentagram sigil he’s prepared on the snow.
“Did you plan this for winter?”
Mei grins. “No, you just have good timing.”
Last year had been milder, and he’d been fighting more than he’d been sitting around drawing circles, so the cold had rarely reached him. Right now, though, it takes him hours just to move a spark. Despite his gloves, his fingers are almost frozen solid. Mei also looks a little cold-burnt, tip of her nose bright pink and lips chapped even as she huddles within her furred robes. “Maybe we should take this inside,” Al jokes.
“Please,” whines Mei, to Al’s surprise. She’s quick to hop off the bench, scurrying in the direction of his room.
“Ah, wait, is that really—”
“C’mon, before my hands freeze off!”
Al hurries after her, extinguished candle in hand. If having a Princess in his—in a man’s room is an impropriety, Mei doesn’t make anything of it, so he tries not to think about it.
In his room, she’s already shed her coat to make a cozy spot in front of the wood-burning stove—but she hasn’t taken a seat. Instead, she stands near his bedside table, staring down at the framed photo in her hand. It’s the only one he brought: his Resembool family standing alongside all their friends from Central.
The door shuts with a gentle click. Mei looks up. “When was this taken?”
“Shortly after you left, actually.”
“Really? You look almost back to normal.”
“Well, everybody took really good care of me.”
She’s quiet for a long time, examining the photo again. “I’m glad. You were so thin, I was worried.”
His hand comes to his hair to tousle thoughtlessly, feeling jittery. He grins sheepishly. “There’s no need to worry about me!”
“I know, but I couldn’t help it. My only comfort was knowing you had so many people there who love you.”
He doesn’t know how to reply. “I—I worried about you, too.”
She peers at him curiously. “Really? Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’” he laughs wryly. His heart pounds in his ears. “Isn’t it obvious? You were so small, and the desert’s huge! Anything could have happened.”
Mei laughs, setting the frame down. “I’d already made the trip once! And my return was much easier, since Ling took me with him. He had an entire convoy meet us halfway to Xing once Lan Fan went ahead with the news!”
Right, of course. But his palms still feel damp. “That’s a relief.”
“Mhm.”
Neither of them moves. Mei stares at him, as if trying to determine something. Al swallows, not knowing what to say or what to do. His throat probably wouldn’t cooperate even if he did have anything to say.
Finally, she spins on her heel, clapping her hands. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work!”
“R-right!”
He sets up in a flustered rush, almost knocking the candle over in his haste. The rest of the afternoon is spent in a similar state, as if he can’t give his full concentration to the flames. He’s unsettled, but he can’t figure out what exactly it is.
“You’re distracted,” says Mei. “You should take a break. We’ll try again the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
She fidgets with a clasp on her robe, suddenly avoidant. “I can’t tomorrow.”
He almost asks why, only to realize with a jolt. “Oh, right, that’s fine. The day after tomorrow then.”
Nodding, she makes her way out, unable to meet his eyes. “See you later.”
“Good night, Mei.”
“Let Ling know if the stove doesn’t keep your room warm enough.” She shuffles around the entryway for another second before scowling at him. “And don’t forget to eat tomorrow! I know you skip meals when you’re practising too hard!”
Their earlier ease returns just like that. Laughing, Al steps out with her, assuring her he’ll eat, then watching until he can’t see her past the stone arch with its bare willow weeping against it. He breathes through the tightness in his chest.
—
He doesn’t sleep well. He can’t, not when the image of her willow-thin back growing only narrower and narrower as she walks away resurrects itself over and over in the back of his mind. She’d looked so small, an increasingly tiny lampblack blot against the snow. Even her footprints had looked light.
She’s supposed to marry off? To somebody she doesn’t know? But how? Who? Trying to imagine Mei with a stranger—faceless, amorphous—is like trying to remember who she was before he’d met her.
It’s not that whoever she marries might hurt her. She can defend herself perfectly fine, he’s witnessed that. But it’s Mei. Making herself meek and reserved wouldn’t be like her.
That’s what the fight is for, you idiot!
But is it really that easy? What if it’s worse—if her husband can keep up with her in combat, what’s stopping him from forcing her into submissiveness? But how would Al know, anyway? How would he ever find out? Once Mei marries, how often will he really see her, be able to check on her?
Once Mei marries, who’s to say if he’ll ever see her again?
—
Mei says craving salty food means it’s a boy. I’m not inclined to agree, it seems a bit silly. Then again, what do I know?
I’ve finally learned how to balance all the elements, which means I’m moving onto alkahestry’s medical use now. Mei says that’ll be the bulk of my time here, which is saying something, since I’ve spent more than a year here just learning the elements. Guess that means it’ll be two or three more years until I see you again, huh? Unless you two visit in the meantime! -Al
—
The snow begins melting away. The strongest of grass seedlings fight through the remaining frost, making themselves known. For several weeks, Mei is in constant attendance, lecturing Al regularly on the precision required for medical alkahestry.
“You’re scaring me, Mei!” whines Al over a sparrow with a limp wing. Apart from its broken bone, it’s entirely unbothered. “I feel like I’m going to kill it if I make one wrong move!”
“You won’t, but that’s how you should be approaching this!”
“It’s so much pressure!”
“It should be, it’s a life!”
Shao Mei watches from the corner of the table, seemingly enjoying herself. Al sets up all the sigils, places his hands on one, then shuts his eyes. The ebb-and-flow is immediately apparent. But where the sparrow’s left wing is strong and weighty, its right wing is weak, as if waning in energy.
He presses qi into the thin leylines, balancing the right wing’s with the left. After a minute, there’s a rustle and a chirp, so he opens his eyes. The sparrow takes off, disappearing easily into the bright, blue sky.
He looks to Mei in awe, only to find her staring after the long-gone bird. When her gaze flicks to his, she smiles. “That was great,” she says, voice soft. “You’ll be done in no time.”
“I’ve got a great teacher.”
The look in her eyes makes him want to take her hand. He doesn’t. But he wants to.
—
With every month, he moves from birds to rabbits to house pets to field and farm animals, increasingly and exponentially bigger until Mei decides he’s ready to visit the court infirmary. Working on people, as it turns out, is an entirely different matter.
After one particularly difficult lesson, he sits outside under the shade, frustrated with himself. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised—after all, it’d taken years for him and Ed to be able to perform human transmutation, only to have it fail. Of course healing a human properly, then, would be all the more difficult. This isn’t the first time, anyway. Mei, at some point, will come out to reassure him he’s doing great, to consider that he’s done in half a year what most alkahestrists in Xing spend a decade learning.
But it isn’t Mei that appears around the corner. It’s Ling, and he looms over Al. “Yikes,” he says without preamble.
Al glares at him. “Where’s Mei?”
“She had to step away for a minute, told me to let you know you’re done for today.”
His brow furrows. “Where’d she go?”
Ling blinks at him. Then a smile curls up one side of his face. “A caller!”
It’s like being kicked in the chest for the first time after regaining his body. All Al can do is stare at Ling.
“A repeat one, too,” Ling exclaims. “Don’t get a lot of those!”
“A repeat one?”
“Well, it’s been months since she last had one, hasn’t it? That’s ‘cause she liked the last guy enough to meet with him again. Lives all the way out in the countryside, though, so correspondence takes a while, hence the wait.”
There’s an irritating pinching behind his temples. “What?”
“I think the Western equivalent would be a feudal lord? Y’know, the ones who own all the land and have all the vassals working for them?”
“The countryside?” Al says belatedly. “How often will she come back?”
Ling gives a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. No, once you’re out, you’re out. That’s how it works here.”
“What?” What? What? What? “Doesn’t he have to fight her?”
“Yeah, that’s probably what she’s going to tell him at this meeting. Probably telling him as we speak. I get the feeling he’ll take her up on it, seems like a good guy.”
“That’s… good.” His mouth is so dry. Dryer than the desert he crossed to get here.
“Yeah, not bad at all, really. She’ll be set up for life, I think. Perks of being related to me!”
“Right.”
“Anyway, that’s all. You eat yet? ‘Cause if not, you can have dinner with me! Mei won’t be available, as you know.” Ling laughs at his own joke. It startles Al just how much he wants to punch his friend in the face.
“I would, but I ate just a bit ago. Sorry.”
“Aaah, that’s too bad. Well, you’re always welcome to join if you get a second wind.”
“Thanks.”
He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, but just the thought of swallowing past the lump in his throat makes him choke.
—
She’s gone for an extended length this time. He practises without her, though her absence is noticeable—and distracting. When their lessons finally resume, he returns to the palace square to find her at their usual bench. She stands up at the sight of him. “Have you eaten?” she asks as she scrambles up to him.
She doesn’t look like a bride-to-be. She doesn’t look any different than she usually does.
“Al?”
“Hm? Sorry, I… no.”
“That’s what I thought,” she chastises. She produces a steaming bun, white and puffy, and a plum. “Here. I can cut it, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s fine.” His hands linger around hers as he takes her gift. Hers are so much smaller than his, fingers pale and thin. The backs are smooth—what scars she does have are faint—but he knows the calluses on the fronts. Has felt them around his own fists.
“Al?”
“Thanks.”
“Are you… are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s just a headache.”
“Oh. Maybe we shouldn’t train today, then.”
“No, it’s nothing, let’s head to the infirmary. I’ll walk it off on the way.”
“O-okay. If you say so.”
They don’t speak as they walk. They don’t speak as he works. The last patient of the day—a young boy, expression in panicked disarray—brings in a family pet, the fur of its muzzle graying with age. Its tail, long and black and tipped with white, flicks weakly until it doesn’t. When the boy begins to weep at his pet’s stillness, Al crouches to one side of him while Mei stoops on the other, rubbing her hand against his back. They assure him that it had been a gentle, comfortable passing, and that they’d only felt love in his pet’s leylines before he’d joined the rest of the earth, moving onto the next cycle.
When the day is over, he finally breaks the silence. “Does alkahestry have human transmutation?”
“No,” Mei answers immediately, shaking her head. “We sensed early on that the soul has no energy.”
Al blinks in stupefaction. “It doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t. It’s something else entirely. For that reason, it can’t be recreated.”
"You felt the Xerxians in Amestris, though."
"I felt the negative energy of their feelings, which is the Dragon's Pulse manifested in the body, not the soul. The soul is what experiences feelings. It's why I could know something was different about the Homunculi and Father without knowing it was because they housed hundreds of thousands of souls in them."
For a long while, the only sound between them is the wind. “A soul can be bound to a vessel, though. Like I was," Al says.
“Yes. We have our own version of the mutants in Amestris from the Promised Day. One of our emperors, years and years ago, did just that with an army of terracotta soldiers."
“But the souls eventually rejected the vessels.” Terracotta would be especially less willing to take on a soul, if the energy of the countless pots he’s transmuted while here means anything. Mei confirms with a nod. “But if you guys can heal the body, can’t you bind a soul to its original body, as long as you bring the body back to its original state?”
“It’s never worked. The Dragon’s Pulse follows its cycle to the end before returning to the Pulse, either to be distributed elsewhere, or to start a new cycle of energy as something else. While energy can’t leave the universe, it won’t re-enter something it’s once given life. We don’t know why.”
“Then can’t you supplant your own energy in the body?”
“We’ve tried. It takes from our own energy. And even then, the life form refuses to take the energy for itself, it just bleeds back out into the world. You’d have to keep giving your energy until you waste away yourself.”
“Equivalent exchange.”
Mei shakes her head. “ Balance. Nothing’s lost. It just exists in another form now.”
“But when I heal a plant—”
“The moment that plant died, it stopped existing as that plant. When you transmute its energy, you aren’t renewing its life, you’re planting a new seed. You just don’t see it because transmuting can bypass steps. The only equivalent for a human would be to create a baby—but you run into the problem of not being able to create a soul, or the soul eventually rejecting its vessel.”
Al is silent. Thoughts spin through his head, familiar grief accompanying them, but also a different kind of comfort than what he’s felt in the past.
“Your mother never left,” Mei says quietly. “Your father, too. They’re still here, just as something else.”
“Something new,” Al murmurs.
Mei nods, taking one of his hands and squeezing. “Something new.”
—
Another day, another morning. They’re on the way to a clinic in another part of the court when an attendant stops them in place.
“Lady Chang”—it takes a bewildering second for Al to realize who it is the attendant is addressing—“You’re wanted in the courtyard between the Hall of Highest Humility and the Hall of Heaven and Earth.”
“O-oh! Okay”—Shao Mei leaps off her shoulder, sprinting off in the direction of the halls—“I… I’ll be right there. Thank you.”
They exchange bows. The attendant heads towards the entrance, but Mei hesitates, gaze flicking to Alphonse. “You go ahead, I have to do something.”
“What is it?” He already knows. His heart is already thundering in his chest.
“Um, nothing really. Just a duel. It’ll be over fast, I’ll be back before—”
“Can I watch?”
She never reaches the end of her sentence, mouth parted in surprise as her eyes dart over his face, as if in search of something. Her brows knit, and she turns away abruptly. “Sure, but it’s gonna be boring!”
“I doubt that.”
“It’ll be over so fast, you’ll wonder why you bothered making the journey at all!”
“Okay.”
“It’ll take longer to walk there than for the actual fight to happen!”
“That’s fine.”
“All you’ll be doing is sitting. Or maybe even standing, maybe they’ve taken the benches out of the courtyard, sometimes they do that in case it gets messy and we break things. It’s not going to be very comfortable—
“Mei, if you don’t want me there, you can just say it.” He feels like he’s suffocating.
She stops in her tracks, shoulders at her ears. She balls her fist. “No, it’s fine. I just…”
For several beats, she says nothing. He wants her to say something. Needs her to. Like he’s parched and her words are water.
Finally, she spins to face him. She’s smiling, but her eyes are tight. “I guess I just feel weird. You knew me when I was still… all romantic, you know? Prince Charming and all of that. So I guess I kind of feel bad making you—well, it’s going to look transactional to you, since it’s not what you’re used to, but for me, I mean for us, in Xing, it’s normal, I get it, it’s how things are, it’s—”
“Your duty.”
Mei flinches. He wants to hurl.
“It’s okay, I get it. I think it’s amazing that you’d do this for your family.”
Her fists unball. Her shoulders fall. “You really think so?” she asks, voice soft.
“Yeah! You’re—well, you’re amazing. I know I say it all the time, but that’s the only way I know how to describe it.”
Mei gives him that long look again, then turns back around. “Thank you, Alphonse.”
“You’re my friend, Mei. I’ll always support you.”
She nods. He doesn’t know who the hell he’s reassuring anymore, himself or her.
—
It isn’t a quick fight, not even close, and the longer it draws out, the heavier the dread in his gut pools. Her opponent—her candidate— is skilled. Not bad-looking, either, enough like a prince that Al can see what might have drawn Mei to the man. He can’t be much older than Ling.
“He doesn’t hold back,” Ling says brightly. He’s been commentating the entire spar, giving points every time her opponent does something favorable, driving Al up a wall. What were originally patient replies have become short grunts.
“He shouldn’t,” he deigns to respond this time.
“He certainly shouldn’t.”
The fight happening in front of him is remarkably similar to how his fights with Mei look now. Lengthy conversations where either one seems to be driving the dialogue until the other delivers a witty reply. Maybe they’ll go on forever, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing, going back and forth until the end of the time.
That’s what marriage is.
Al shoots to his feet, startling Ling. “I should get back.”
“But it’s not over yet!”
“She’s going to win.”
“Sure, but don’t you wanna see how it happens?”
He really doesn’t. He doesn’t want to see her patience as she waits for the slip in their back-and-forth, doesn’t want to see her bow to her opponent, doesn’t want to see him take his loss well.
Doesn’t want to see Mei accept him.
Al walks out of the courtyard gate feeling like his body’s being torn from him all over again.
—
Brother, how do you know you love Winry? -Al
—
After the fight—she wins—there’s nothing. Mei doesn’t attend anymore planned or unplanned meetings, she doesn’t leave his side as he continues to fight, to work, and she doesn’t make any mention of it. It would be peaceful if it didn’t feel like the lull before a storm.
One month passes, then two. Soon, the plum blossoms are blooming again. On a particularly difficult day, when one of the princesses delivers a stillborn and somebody’s grandfather takes his last breath, Al collapses outside the palace clinic, head in his hands.
Mei comes to his side, easily recognizable in her light-footedness. She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. They’re somewhere else, now.”
“Somewhere new,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.
“Somewhere new.”
Mei takes a seat, close enough that he can feel her warmth. She holds one of his hands in both of hers. His heart crawls into his throat. “What do daughters do once they move away?” he blurts. What will you be doing?
She doesn’t answer for the longest time. When she does, she speaks softly, contemplatively. “We take care of the house and the household. If he has attendants, we assign them their duties, oversee their days. We take care of his parents, and any siblings still living with him, and… our children, eventually.”
“Do you want kids?”
“Definitely. More than one for sure. Hopefully not for a little longer, though, I don’t think I’m ready!”
“Two’s a good number.”
She laughs. “One’s too lonely, but a palace worth’s is too much. Two falls somewhere in between that, if I’m counting right.”
He finally manages a smile. Mei squeezes his hand. What he really wants is to lay his forehead against her shoulder, to pull her into him.
But this is enough, too.
—
She doesn’t really teach him anymore. They fight each other, work alongside each other, take meals together. During one such meal, she’s mid-explanation of the benefit of combining traditional medicines and treatments with Western ones when Ling appears suddenly at her side.
“Lunch, huh?”
Both Mei and Al stop chewing. There’s a gaping silence. Then Mei shoots up with a gasp. “I completely forgot!”
“Yeah, thought so. You’ve got rice on your face.” Line holds up a handkerchief. Mei pats frantically at her face.
“You should’ve told me!” she whines at Al.
“I didn’t notice!” He really hadn’t.
“You’re both useless!” she huffs before rushing off.
Ling slides into her spot like she was never there, taking her chopsticks and picking up where she’d left off. “Weather’s nice,” he says around a mouthful of fish.
Al blinks. “Where’s she going?”
“She was supposed to have lunch with Tao and his parents today.”
“Still? Isn’t everything settled?”
“Pretty much. It’s all formalities now until the wedding.”
His chest shutters. “Wedding?”
“Yep! Set for six months from now in the fall. Then our favorite Mei Chang’s off with her dowry to manage a household and make some heirs! Or, well, one really, unless she wants to start the whole competition thing again”—he circles a finger around his face—“but I doubt it. Nah, she’ll just have kids until she pops out a boy. Then again, Tao might be the kind of guy who wants concubines, which means this whole cycle will inevitably start all over again, and then Mei’ll have to deal with that, too—”
“W-what?”
Ling inspects the array of dishes like he hasn’t already tried them all. “Hm? I’m talking about heirs, Al. That’s what daughters are for.”
“She’s not ready!”
“Oh, did she say that? Damn. That sucks.”
“What is that supposed to mean?!”
“It’s the only reason sons get married, Al,” Ling says over a bite. “They need an heir.”
“She doesn’t get a say?!”
“She’s choosing to marry him, isn’t she? I told her she could stay here. She didn’t want to.”
Al stares. When Ling says nothing, continuing to eat as if he hasn’t just hollowed Al out, he slams his chopsticks down and leaves the courtyard.
—
She’d lied to him, then. Not directly, but by omission. Why?
Why?
—
Six months becomes five, then four. At the start of the third month, after restarting a farmer’s heart—thankfully, the Pulse hadn’t been done with him yet—Mei says, “I don’t have anything else to teach you.”
“I’m sure there’s something,” he teases, half in public jest, half in private desperation. She shakes her head, though, and he feels a pang behind his ribs.
“I don’t know if you’ve been keeping track, but you’ve been here for three years, Al. For somebody like you, that’s all the time you need.”
Al stares at her. He counts backwards, recounting every instance the stone courtyard had been dusted with paling petals. Three birthdays for both him and her, celebrated with a bowl of the longest noodles he’d ever seen for dinner, but that memory blurs against the plum blossoms.
“Huh,” he murmurs. “Guess you’re right.”
They fall into a silence, summer heat bearing down on them. A bead of sweat trails down her temple, cutting down her neck. Eventually, Mei says, “Ling wants to send you off with a convoy. He can have that ready as soon as tomorrow, if you want.”
Three years ago, he’d come with a suitcase. Now, he’s not entirely sure he’ll have enough room for the things he’s acquired, even with a convoy. “Give me a week. I’ve… got a lot of stuff I need to get in order.”
“Okay.”
“Will you… be here?” he asks hesitatingly, not sure whether he wants the answer.
She nods fervently. “The wedding is here, so I’ll be staying until then.” Her hands come to either elbow, as if hugging herself. “I’m off to the countryside the morning after.”
“Right.”
Another stifling silence. She’s the first to swim above it. “Well, I’ll go let Ling know to have everything ready for next week.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Of course. Bye, Alphonse.”
She hurries away before he can reply.
—
The leaves start turning the day he exits the palace. Camels and carts line the road, as well as people. He’d expected Ling and Mei and perhaps a few others, but it seems almost the whole court is here. Some villagers from outside the palaces, too. Even Lan Fan has stepped out of the shadows to say goodbye.
It’s disarming to be back in a button-up, waistcoat, and stiff trousers. People shake his hand, bow, clap him on the back, all of them either patients throughout his time here, or family of the patients. When he’s finally moved through the entire line, one of the previously empty carts is packed with gifts for his return. Ling steps up at the end, slinging an arm over Al.
“Tell Ed and Winry to drag their asses over here with you next time, alright?” he chides. “Everybody else, too. Pretty sure when Mustang was a baby, he somehow made his way over to Amestris from here. Stranger things have happened.”
Al lets out a laugh. “I’ll let them know the offer’s open.”
Ling’s face softens. He pulls Al into a hug. “Make it soon! Don’t want to have to use the Philosopher’s Stone just to see you again.”
Al returns the gesture, giving his friend a pat. Then Ling steps back, and there’s Mei. Shao Mei stands at her feet, clinging to the cuff of her pants. Her eyes are wide. Glassy.
“Don’t forget your Xingese,” says Mei. “And remember to eat when you’re working! And eat more fruit, but something other than apples, you eat too many apples, if all Amestris has is apples and pie, make Ling send you peaches or something. And make sure Winry doesn’t eat anything too cold right after she eats something hot, or else the baby will struggle. And don’t let her sleep with her hair wet—you, either!”
Before Al can speak, she bows sharply, thrusting something into his chest. A book. He takes it, and Mei straightens, her earlier distress cleared. “Notes from the past three years. Only the most important of them!”
Speechless, Al examines the cover. It’s an unusual gift given that they’ve been working out of scrolls for the past three years. The cover is rich leather, broken in until it’s soft and worn, and it appears to be bound by hand. He flips to the first page, and it’s Mei’s neat calligraphy, written in tidy columns. There’s a breeze and it rustles the pages. A flower he hadn’t noticed flutters off the page, flipping lazily to the ground.
“Oh,” she gasps, stooping to the ground to pick it back up. “This… um, it’s from the first time you ever transmuted”—her voice cracks, and she stalls unexpectedly. She slips the delicate thing back between the pages, hands warm against his for too short of a second. “The first time you transmuted successfully, the flower you made, I went back for it and I, um, I pressed it. I just thought you should have it.” Her bottom lip begins to tremble.
Al stares. The petals are almost translucent, the veining spider-web fine. The calyx is a burgundy instead of its usual fresh, blood red. When he looks up, Mei won’t meet his gaze. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are watering. Something in him cracks wide open.
“Mei,” he says, voice shaking. “If… if it’s about duty, does it have to be him? Can’t it be—can’t it be somebody else? Can't it be anybody? And… does it have to be someone who… who isn’t... I know I can’t give you a palace, and going back and forth between Xing and Amestris might get exhausting, but—if it’s… if it’s about balance… I mean, you wouldn’t have to force something you’re not, do things you aren’t—push when you’re supposed to pull, and pull when”—he swallows roughly, clenching his jaw. Just spit it out. “If it’s about balance, shouldn’t it be me?”
There. He’s said it. The muscle between his ribs thuds against bone, trying to fight its way out. His eyes sting. Mei stares at him for so long, his heart begins to split at the seams. Suddenly, her eyes well up with tears.
“Alphonse Elric!” she shouts, whacking him on the chest. For a terrifying second, he’s sure it’s over, that he’s made a mistake, but then she leaps into him, tears streaming down her face. He catches her with a grunt, stumbling back a step. “Took you long enough, you big dummy!” she sobs. “I’d given up on you ever figuring it out!”
“F-figuring it out?!”
“That you loved me!”
“You knew?! W-why didn’t you ever say anything?!”
“Because you didn’t get it! Every time I pushed, you pushed back. And then I’d pull away and you’d pull away too!”
He wants to deny it, but when he thinks back on it, she’s right. He’s always dismissed his fondness as comfort, attributed the joy she gives him to her adorable-ness. He’d mistaken her kindness for closeness and her admiration for lingering childhood hero-worship. It's taken nearly losing her for him to realize what this is.
“Well,” Ling says from the sidelines, shocking Al out of her warmth. “That’s a wrap. You can all go home now.” The crowd titters in amusement. “I’ll take care of Tao. Guess that means you might as well pack yourself into Al’s things, Mei. You’ll probably fit in that cart.” He points at a cramped, empty space in one of the cargo carts.
Mei peels away from Al, leaving him cold, to sock Ling in the shoulder, shouting at him over his helpless whine. Shao Mei clambers up Al’s back, taking a spot on his shoulder and grinning. His stomach flips, but no longer with discomfort. In the middle of Ling dodging more of Mei’s flying hands, Al tugs her back, spinning her into him, burying his face in the crown of her head. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” he murmurs, breathing her in.
She laughs, coming to her tiptoes to peer at him, tears in her eyes all over again. Her hands come to his face, holding him. “You’re the only one I could wait that long for.”
—
Whoops, sorry for the late reply! We’ve had our hands full with this baby, even before he was born. Thought it’d slow down after the first year, but it’s the opposite. One thing happens, then another, and before you know it, three years have passed. Oh yeah, if you haven’t already figured it out: he’s a boy! Looks like that miniature Xingese brat’s not full of shit!
On that note, it’s good to hear you’re finishing up your studies, ‘cause Winry’s pregnant again, and we’re going to need a third pair of hands around. Ed Junior (I promise that’s not actually his name, but if I tell you his name right away, I don’t know that you’ll ever come back to Resembool!) is a freaking tornado. I keep telling Winry he’s her kid, because there’s no way in hell I was ever this chaotic.
How do I know I love Winry? Hmm… I don’t know. Does anybody ever know why they love somebody? You just do. Plus, we grew up with her, and you know how she was. She definitely wasn’t giving me heart palpitations. There were like, five seconds when we were trying to get our bodies back that she did, but these days, they’re few and far between. Heart palpitations probably aren’t a good measure, anyway. I bet that’s why it took me so long to figure it out. I mean, when you think of people like Maes or Jean, you think love is fireworks and flowers and being stupid. But when I finally realized what I felt towards Winry was love, I also realized I’d always loved her. I can’t remember a time I didn’t. I just didn’t get that until the moment she had that gun pointed at Scar. She would’ve never been the same after, you know? She would’ve been gone. And I realized I couldn’t imagine being without her.
Why? Is there somebody you’ve got in mind? ‘Cause if that’s what it is, you should just go for it, Al. There are some things you shouldn’t wait too long for. And if it’s got anything to do with Princesses—especially Princesses of Xing—then it’s a done deal. I’m pretty sure you loved Mei the moment her cat wormed her way into your armor.
Kind of crazy, huh? I guess the Universe has a funny way of working out its kinks. You just have to let it. -Ed
— fin.