Chapter Text
First to announce the prince’s arrival were the servants: his standard was seen outside the city, and the harbingers from the city walls rushed to the palace to deliver the news. The capital, of course, already knew how the battle ended: the prince won yet again in Ishval, and the Aerugovian army fled from the battlefield, leaving one of their generals there; wounded and outnumbered, he surrendered. Rumour had it, the Aerugovian general was wounded by Prince Roy himself; Ed just shrugged, when he heard that. If it was indeed true, and the general was struck by the prince’s flame-bladed sword, then he was doomed — these wounds weren’t easy to heal. The general wouldn’t live to see his homeland again after a blow like this. Ed himself thought these weapons to be incredibly cruel; although it’s not like the prince had ever asked for his opinion.
The hallways were buzzing. Everybody was trying to look out of the window to see the prince dismounting and giving orders to his entourage; Ed walked right past them into the Presence Chamber, where the king was receiving petitioners — His Highness will certainly head there to report.
In the Chamber Ed navigated the crowd to find his brother; Al greeted him, while trying to button the collar of his jerkin.
“Have you seen the prince yet?” he whispered. Ed shook his head; he’d have enough time to look at the prince all he wants. If the prince came to the capital, he’d stay here for some time: the king, his almighty brother, always tried to keep the prince around, but the prince, irresponsible as he always was, escaped to his harrisons and battlefields every time, neglecting his duties.
His Highness took some time arriving though; he entered with his retinue, when several more people had addressed the king, and bowed to king Zolf. Dressed in a traveller’s cloak, not befitting a prince at all, he still looked regal — his status clearly seen in his steps, in his posture. The king nodded to him and gestured for the prince to speak; Prince Roy smiled and spoke.
The battle was nothing extraordinary though; another clash of two garrisons, Amestrian and Aerugovian. They’ve been fighting for uniting Ishval before Ed’s grandparents were born, and this war could as well last for Ed’s grandchildren to see; nothing new. Prince Roy, of course, was convinced he could end the war in next several years: Amestrians were… well, not loved, but not as hated by Ishvalans as Aerugovians, and even those who wanted to see Ishval completely independent, agreed that using Amestrians to at least unite Ishval was reasonable. Ed, of course, disagreed both with Ishvalans and the prince; the former seemed to forget the bitter lesson Xerxesians learned, and the latter, in Ed’s eyes, was just as bad as the Bradley dynasty that destroyed Xerxes three centuries ago, another bloodthirsty butcher. Too many Amestrians and Xerxesians had died for Ishval; why not just leave them in their desert to sort their problems themselves?
The king was not particularly interested in the prince’s tale; he only stirred when the captured general was escorted in and forced to kneel before him. But the general was escorted out, and the prince ushered the king to the more secluded chamber behind a thick door, to talk in private. The whispers went around; the war was far from over, of course, but another spectacular victory was always appreciated. Most courtiers weren’t soldiers; the court itself was quite peaceful, and unrest on the borders didn’t bother them except for the times when taxes were raised.
Al elbowed Ed again. “Stop frowning,” he advised, and Ed huffed; but then he saw the king returning and gesturing to their father. Van Hohenheim stepped to the king immediately; after getting what seemed to be an order he looked to his sons at their place among the courtiers and nodded. It meant their help might be needed; despite their noble status they were at the court not as the sons of Lady Trisha Elric, the Mistress of Robes at Her Highness Lady Izumi’s court, but as the sons and apprentices to Van Hohenheim, the royal physician. They both were equally satisfied by this; were they to have any position at court meant for the nobles, they would endure much more pressure than they had now. Their grandparents, Lord and Lady Elric, would be horrified, of course; but neither Trisha nor Van Hohenheim really cared — as long as Ed and Al were happy, their parents were happy for them.
Their father left first; he sent a servant to fetch them, and Ed and Al obediently followed.
“Did His Majesty want us to look at the Aerugovian? If he was indeed wounded by His Highness, it’s not good. I heard so much about wounds like this, and they are… whooh.”
Ed shrugged and held the door for Al.
Their father was already inside — but not with the general. On the patient’s chair there was the prince, looking very annoyed; when he noticed Ed and Al, he became even grimmer.
“I’ve told Jay already, that’s nothing. A scratch, nothing more. Knox’d seen it already.”
“I don’t doubt Knox’s judgement, but just for His Majesty to be sure, Your Highness, please — I will verify everything is alright. It won’t take long, I promise. Now please, could you?”
The prince sighed heavily and took off his doublet and shirt, revealing a scratch on his side — indeed, nothing to be worried about. In a week or two it will be completely gone.
Van Hohenheim still paid it utmost attention; meanwhile the prince was examining the room. He rarely visited it — His Highness was away from court very often, and most of his — seldom — injuries were treated by Dr Knox of Ishvalan garrison. Ed himself had never met the man, but he heard a lot of praise from his father; it would be interesting indeed to meet him in person. The prince seemed to hold him in high regard as well; but Ed never trusted his judgements.
Ed startled, though, when he felt the prince looking straight at him; Ed immediately turned his head in an attempt to avoid his stare. For many reasons Ed disliked His Highness, and did a poor job of hiding it; partly because he was never important enough at the court for his opinion to matter to the prince, and partly because he maybe wanted the prince to know of his opinion. They had never had an open confrontation, though, just a few incidents of bickering — from Ed’s side, and mocking — from the side of prince Roy, the entitled asshole.
The examination of the wound was over, finally, and the prince was already reaching for his shirt, but suddenly he coughed — an unpleasant wet cough, shaking his entire body; Van Hohenheim, who was smiling softly before that, frowned. Ed heard Al exhaling noisily; that none of them would have expected. They all knew that kind of cough, wouldn’t mistake it for a common cold; that was the cough of the petal disease.
Van Hohenheim took his ear trumpet from the table. “Your Highness, may I?” he asked in a voice that offered no choice whatsoever. The prince frowned.
“Knox will handle it, doctor,” he said, unfolding his shirt to put it on again, “I am heading back to Ishval soon anyway.”
“With all due respect, good sir, he’s a great surgeon, but he can’t handle the petals. And I, for your information, am the primary expert on the petal disease in the entire land of Amestris.”
The prince made a face. “And you will report to my brother faster than I will be done with the buttons. At least Knox values my privacy.”
“That, Your Highness, is my duty. I was ordered to report to the king when he first told me to take a look at your wound.”
“To hell with you; fine!” The prince threw his shirt back on the chair and let Van Hohenheim examine him; he obediently breathed louder and slower, but luckily for him, the cough didn’t repeat. Van Hohenheim was still frowning, though; he gestured for Ed to come closer and take some notes.
“Get dressed now, please. When did it start? The taste, the cough?”
The prince put on his shirt and shrugged. “A year ago? Maybe one and a half. The cough… must be a couple of weeks. Not every day. Never in the daytime.” He stopped and looked at Van Hohenheim. “How much time do I have?”
“Depends on whether you will confess.”
“Out of the question,” Prince Roy snapped, suddenly defensive. “Not your business, Van Hohenheim. Not anybody’s. Now go, report to my brother.”
Van Hohenheim sighed heavily; when the prince left, slamming the door, he turned to his sons.
“I am going to His Majesty. And you two — not a word to anyone, not to discuss in any place where you can be overheard. Preferably abstain from talking of it whatsoever.” He turned and left as well; Al exhaled and sat on the patient’s chair.
“Who would have thought, huh? Prince Roy — and the petals. I wonder whom he’s coughing for,” Al glanced at his brother; Ed shrugged. It was unexpected indeed. His Highness, Prince Roy, the most handsome — after the king himself — man at the court, and coughing? And, even more unexpected, refusing to confess even to save his own life?
But who indeed could it be? Somebody worth dying for, or somebody who wouldn’t even listen to his confession of love? Ed knew such people at court — cold and immovable, who turned away those who were literally dying of love for them; he had always assumed that the prince was one of this type. He was always seen flirting with everybody; Ed could have sworn he saw Prince Roy flirting with Lady Trisha at Lady Izumi’s court. And now he’s in love, and refused to confess — but why? Even the coldest hearts at the court would have warmed up for the prince, if not for his possible virtues, but at least for his status.
For a year and a half already… Ed counted in his mind; if the prince was sick for that long, then he had no more than five years to live. Six, if he’d be extremely careful; that left him three, maybe four years to confess, before his lungs were completely ruined by the flowers growing in them. But with his temper — Ed wouldn’t be too surprised if the prince were to die in next two years, either from the petal disease or from his own stupidity and recklessness.
“It’s not our business, I suppose,” Ed finally said, when Al poked him for the millionth time. “His love life is his own. If he wants to die young, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Do you think his retinue knows? Or his brother? What if is queen Riza?” Al gasped at his own words. “They are so close! Grew up together! And now she’s happily married and he’s out there, risking his life in Ishval!”
Ed smacked him half-heartedly. “Not our business, Al. He’ll be gone to Ishval in a month anyway, and even if he stays, it’s not like he’s going to spill his heart out to any of us.”
Van Hohenheim found them again before supper: Ed and Al were reading a Xerxesian volume about childbirth. In these matters Xerxesian doctors were better by far than Amestrians, although in fields like surgery they were far behind.
“What did His Majesty say? Was he pissed?” Al asked, letting Ed turn the page. Father sat next to them.
“Yes. He was livid, in fact. Started asking His Highness who’s that person he’s coughing for, ordered him to stay at court at all times… His Highness wasn’t happy about it either. He was going to leave for Ishval, to finish the fight, as he put it, but now he can’t because of his brother. They came to a solution though…”
Ed closed the book.
“A solution we won’t like, am I correct?”
Van Hohenheim nodded. “You will be appointed to His Highness’ retinue. Not sure which position you’ll be given, something befitting your mother’s estate. But your task will be to keep an eye on the prince’s condition and to inform me and His Majesty of any changes. If — only if — you are able to learn the name of his love, then you’re to report it as well. If all goes well, you will be given a title of your own, and rewarded for your service of course.”
“I am to spy on the prince in exchange for something I don’t need,” Ed scowled. “I see. Why me? Did the prince insist on it?”
“He didn’t. His Majesty decided it should be you, and Al should stay as my apprentice and assistant. I beg you, Edward, behave with the prince. You don’t like him, I understand, but he’s not as bad as you might imagine, certainly not worse than young Bradleys.”
Al whistled. “Haven’t even heard of a person worse than young Bradleys, to be honest. They certainly set a bar low enough… But I agree, don’t be an ass to the prince. He’s ill, after all.”
Ed groaned. “Fine! I will try! I can’t promise I’ll be a model servant though. Or a subtle spy.”
“Mostly, you’ll need to be a good physician. I’ll give you my notes on the petals, the ones I made watching your mother and myself, and I’ll still be prescribing him medicines, you just need to check if he takes them as he should,” Van Hohenheim smiled warmly at him. He indeed was the expert on the petal disease — because he survived it.
That story was widely known: Trisha Elric was allowed by Lady Chris, the Princess Regent, to marry a man at a position that low, because both she and her beloved were sick with love to each other. A so-called ‘petal marriage’, invented for cases like this; any mésalliance was allowed when separating the lovers was sure to kill them both.
So they had gotten a special permission and were wedded, and, while Trisha’s parents were furious about the whole thing, the court was in their favor; Lady Izumi, then in search for ladies-in-waiting, took Trisha in and gave her husband a place at her court. His skills — especially in treating the petals, — earned him a position at the King Zolf’s court two years ago; since then he had more patients than he could handle.
And now this — a patient with the petals who can’t be treated openly. And what a patient — Prince Roy, a vain, shallow man, who never cared for anything or anybody in his life; all virtues he could have had went to his siblings, Lady Izumi and King Zolf, while he got vices meant for three men. Wicked, cruel, egotistic — Prince Roy represented everything Ed couldn’t stand in people; Ed would gladly let him die. But if he could get the petal disease — if he was capable of loving somebody so much, — then, maybe, he was not as bad as he seemed? He should at least be given a chance — and then, who knows, maybe this love would shape him into a better person.
“I’ll try,” Ed finally said, his mind made up. “Will I have to be with him all the time?”
Van Hohenheim nodded.
“You will be given lodgings of your own, and you must accompany him at all times, whether he hunts, or trains, or dines, or travels. You’ll become part of his retinue, so I assume you must get used to wearing his colors as well.”
“Perfect. Just perfect,” Ed winced. “I guess I don’t have a say in this though.”
“Indeed, you do not. So at least pretend to be nice, Edward, please.” With that Van Hohenheim left, leaving Ed and Al to their reading. Books on medicine always helped to distract them from heavy thoughts; today wasn’t an exception.
There was a feast in the evening; the hall was kept, and everybody gathered here to celebrate the victory. Sitting in his place, low and far away from the center tables, Ed kept glancing at the prince. He was cheerful — chatting with Their Majesties, smiling a lot; completely unlike someone who received a death sentence today.
The tables were cleared; the prince stood up and gestured to the musicians — the time for true celebrations had come. For the first dance a Cretan melody was played, and the prince tugged at his brother’s sleeve. That was a dance for brothers — usually by blood, but sometimes for brothers-in-arms as well; at Lady Izumi’s court Ed sometimes danced with Al to same music. But both King Zolf and Prince Roy were better dancers than Ed and Al, so watching them was much more pleasing.
Ed was not the only one watching them, of course: the king and his brother were the most handsome, most desirable people at court. Black hair that the king prefered to wear long, an outdated tradition for the elder son that Ed also followed; the prince chose to cut his hair short, as the second son and as a soldier. Skin milky-white — truer for the king than for the prince who spent too much time in the South fighting Aerugo; blue eyes — Ed had noticed today that prince Roy’s eyes were indeed of that pure Amestrian blue color of their dynasty. That was a rare combination, and therefore more valuable: most dark-haired Amestrians had dark eyes, and those with blue ones were blond, so any deviation was interesting.
Ed and Al themselves were deviating too — they took after their Xerxesian father, golden hair and eyes, golden skin — now, when they lived in the Central, their skin was slightly lighter; back in Dublith the sun darkened it even more. But Xerxesians were plenty — since Xerxes had been conquered a lot of people left for Amestris and mixed with the local population, and now seeing an Amestrian with Xerxesian golden eyes wasn’t a rare occasion. Xingese, though, —they still were incredibly rare, even considering Xingese origins of the ruling dynasty; and the king and his brother did look Xingese indeed.
The music changed, and other dancers joined in: like Maes Hughes, Earl of Wellesley, and his wife, Lady Gracia. He was Prince Roy’s personal friend, albeit much nicer; or maybe Ed let his sympathy for his wife, Queen Riza’s lady-in-waiting, affect his judgement. She — oh, she was incredibly sweet; when Ed and Al first came to the court at Central, she helped them navigate both the palace and the people; when she gave birth to a daughter, Ed was honored with a chance to hold the baby in his arms. With the earl himself he never crossed paths; mostly watched him from afar, usually next to the prince. That was a petal marriage as well — the earl was a poor knight when he met the prince, and their friendship let him rise; but Lady Gracia hadn’t been noble at all. Maybe that’s why she was always so kind to others; not many courtiers were kind to people around.
Her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting went around the hall, choosing partners; one of them, Lady Rebecca, offered her hand to Ed, but he shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood for dancing today, not with all the news he received. Lady Rebecca smiled at him and turned to Al; Al accepted her offer and stood up. His brother was so much better in court rituals and traditions; one day he’d become a perfect courtier, with his ability to see through people. It was a sad thing to admit, but out of two brothers Al was best suited for a place of royal physician; albeit Ed didn’t mind if he himself had to seek practice outside of the palace. The strict court of Central City mostly annoyed him; at Dublith he had been much happier — much freer.
It was indeed a shame Ed was appointed to the prince and not Al; he would deal with it much better. But they’d see; perhaps if Ed failed, then Al would take his place.
They were preparing to sleep, when somebody knocked on their door. Ed put his comb away.
“Come in!”
The door opened; Jean Havoc, one of prince’s retinue, walked in. Ed barely knew him — rumour had it, Havoc was of Xerxesian descent as well, raised somewhere in the East, close to Elrics’ lands. He had a name of the best archer at the court; that was how prince Roy had noticed him for the first time.
“His Grace wishes to speak to you, Master Elric,” Havoc bowed and smiled to him, with friendliness Ed didn’t expect. “Now, if possible.”
As if it couldn’t wait till morning; Ed wrapped his ribbon prepared to be plaited around his wrist and stood up.
“Fine. Lead the way.” He grabbed his doublet as he walked out, following Havoc’s footsteps.
His Highness wasn’t sleeping yet; he was sitting next to the fire, barely dressed, deep in a book. He didn’t even lift his head, when they walked in; only when Havoc coughed pointedly, did the prince close his book.
“Your Grace — Master Elric,” Havoc bowed, and Ed followed suit.
Prince Roy smiled. “Edward? How lovely. Hope Jean didn’t wake you, though.”
Ed felt himself blushing slightly. “He didn’t, Your Highness. I wasn’t sleeping yet. You wished to talk to me?”
“Ah, yes. Please, ‘Your Grace’ is more than enough, Ed. Can I call you Ed?” When Ed nodded, the prince continued, “I wanted to learn more about you, and also for you to learn more about me. I know, you’re not at all happy about this appointment, but it’s temporary, isn’t it? Four or five years, and then you’ll be back to your life again.”
That tone Ed didn’t like at all; it was bad enough that the prince refused to tell them the name of his love, but to be so ready to die… Something was off about it.
“That is my duty, good sir,” — Ed bowed, — “what did you want to know, Your Grace?”
“Your duty will be to be my nanny, I assume. You grew up at my sister’s court, right? I recall seeing you and your brother there, albeit I have to confess, I am not sure if I was able to tell you apart before you moved to Central. Isn’t your mother my sister’s lady-in-waiting?”
“She’s the Mistress of Robes at Her Highness’ court, sir. The princess was so kind to offer her a position after my grandparents… After they disowned her. For marrying my father.” Ed clenched his fists, hiding them behind his back. That still drove him around the bend: how they left Trisha on her own when she dared to follow her heart. The prince frowned.
“Is that why… oh, I see. But a petal marriage knows no social status, right?.. Oh, that is horribly unfair, I must admit. And you have no estate in your name, right? Not entitled to even inherit Elrics’ lands… Aren’t they those Elrics from the East? Jean, you must know them, don’t you?”
Havoc coughed. “I do know them, Your Grace. My family used to live on their lands, so we’d bowed to them for years. Not nice people, I must say, sir. Not kind to us, were they.”
“Do you want their estate, Ed?” The prince smiled at Ed, mischief in his eyes. Ed shook his head.
“I don’t care. We are fine on our own. Don’t need their charity.”
The prince laughed, amused. “Fine. I see. Anyway, here’s what I wanted to talk about. My condition is to be kept secret from anybody but my brother, my retinue and Van Hohenheim. Your brother, though… I hope he’s not too talkative. My sister, Lady Chris, and especially the queen should not know, no matter how nicely they ask and how worried they look. Your mother is also out of question — she’s my sister’s closest friend, and I can’t let Izumi know. Not yet, at least. That much is clear?”
Ed nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Moving on. You’ll be given lodgings down the hall. If needed, you’ll be moved to my Privy Chamber, but I hope it can be avoided for next two or three years at least. You are to accompany me when I’m leaving the palace. When I’m here, you’re mostly free to do your own thing, only checking on me in the morning and in the evening. Although it will be appreciated if you’re with us on the training grounds. Are you good with weapons? I assume you’re not; you’ll be taught in case it’s needed. You’ll dine and sup with my retinue, when the hall is kept. But often we sup in the city or here, in private setting. You’ll get fabric for clothes befitting your current position… Is your mother sewing your shirts? She’ll get fabric as well. The armor hopefully you won’t need, but I hope I’ll be able to return to Ishval soon, and I’m afraid you’ll have to follow me there. Any questions so far?”
“None, sir.”
The prince nodded, satisfied. “If you’ll have any questions, you can go to Jean — or to anybody in my retinue, actually, they all can help you adjust to the changes. That’s all for today — now good night, Ed. We’ll see each other in the morning.”
Ed bowed and left; Havoc — Jean — followed him to the hallway.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Jean smiled and put his hand on Ed’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it fast enough. Don’t hesitate to ask me or anybody else, though, — we’re all glad to help. Now go; I’ll come fetch you in the morning.”
The next morning came sooner than Ed would have appreciated; Jean knocked on his door too early for Ed’s liking. But he didn’t rush Ed as Ed was dressing in haste; rather, he chatted to Al, telling him an amusing story he heard from Lady Rebecca. When Ed declared himself ready, Jean lead him back to the prince’s chambers — walked right through the dining chamber, the privy chamber into the prince’s bedroom.
The prince was already awake — dressed only in his shirt and hose, with no boots on, he was sitting at a small table, writing what seemed like a letter, not stopping even at the sound of door being opened.
“Morning, Ed,” — the prince finally turned to him, — “I hope you like early mornings.” He put the quill down and took his shirt off, baring his torso. Ed sighed. He would gladly sleep in — at this season mornings were extremely unpleasant.
“I’ll manage,” Ed mumbled, taking out an ear trumpet. The prince stood up, letting Ed listen to his breathing. At first Ed didn’t hear anything, though; but then the prince coughed a bit, not a racking cough Ed heard before, and Ed could clearly hear the distinctive rustle in his chest. The plants growing; then the flowers would appear, and the prince’d start coughing petals and blood.
Ed sighed again, withdrawing. Even with his dislike to the prince he found the entire situation incredibly sad: the second most powerful man in the country, dying at such a young age. How old was he? Not thirty yet, right? About a decade older than Ed himself. At his prime — and he likely wouldn’t make it to forty.
The prince put his shirt back on — thinnest linen with exquisite embroidery, most likely done by either Lady Chris or Lady Izumi. “Will you breakfast with us?” he asked nonchalantly. Ed shrugged. Usually he skipped breakfast at all — had more interesting things to do with his time. But now… why not, indeed.
The prince smiled at him. “Send the servants for some food, Jean,” — he ordered, — “let them set the table for us.”
Jean nodded and ushered Ed outside, to the privy chamber, where the rest of the retinue sat. The pallets were hidden already, and everybody looked too cheerful for that hour of the day; Ed recognised some faces, but he didn’t know the names. Jean introduced him quickly and left to the kitchen; Ed stayed there, feeling very out of place.
The first to speak was — Breda, he introduced himself; the rest followed. They all had titles, of course, albeit not higher than a baron; Ed was told not to use them, though. In the prince’s circle they all were equals, no matter their title or rank. That was, to Ed’s liking, very odd. Most courtiers went impossible lengths to get a title, and they certainly wouldn’t ignore it; but, well, the prince’s retinue could afford that.
Jean returned; the prince emerged from his bedroom, already dressed, and gave Fuery several envelopes. “To be sent,” he explained and led them all to the dinner chamber, where bread and cheese was already served.
That first morning set the rhythm: Ed would wake up too early and check on the prince; then they’d all share a meal and go find something to do. Usually before dinner they’d hunt — although Ed would hardly call that hunting; often they just stopped somewhere and talked, or just enjoyed the calmness of the nature. Sometimes the king with his gentlemen accompanied them; on days like these Ed prefered to ride next to Mason, who just recently moved to Central from Lady Izumi’s court; they knew each other for years, and Mason was good enough for when Al wasn’t around. Ed also watched the king — he silently admired King Zolf from afar, for he was indeed a remarkable man: wise, not quick to anger, heartless — but not cruel. In the world where feeling too much could kill you, only people like King Zolf — cold, sane, always in control of their emotions, — could survive. And still he was capable of kindness — Ed saw him with his wife, Queen Riza, his closest and most trusted friend; they luckily avoided all dangers of passion, but they loved each other — of course, as much as people like them could love anyone. And, apparently, King Zolf truly loved his foolish brother — that much was obvious from their interactions.
The retinue of said foolish brother also loved him despite everything — Jean Havoc almost started a physical fight once, when somebody in the city mentioned the prince in an unflattering way. Others weren’t so physically aggressive, but they were very protective of the prince nonetheless, even though the prince insisted he can take care of himself. His retinue, however, paid it no mind; they thought it their responsibility to remind him that he should be careful. Fuery confessed to Ed once that in Ishval the prince was even worse — dedicating all his time to military training, forgetting to eat, not sleeping enough. Now his training time was limited by other responsibilities, but still the prince spent too much time on the training grounds — either with his flame-bladed sword, or with a straight sword; often he trained with knives and daggers against Earl of Wellesley, who was a known master in that. Havoc trained the prince in archery; despite the fact that the prince barely would use such a bow in a battle, his lack of skill seemed to annoy him.
That seemed to be one of his most noticeable traits: the prince strived to succeed, albeit only in things he thought important for him. Maybe it was his vanity, that didn’t let him deal with being not good enough in things like wrestling and archery, or it was something else — Ed didn’t really bother with thinking about his underlying motives, more focused on his own task. That, though, was in conflict with Prince Roy’s goals and tasks; Ed was instructed by Van Hohenheim to get the prince to rest more, but the prince was restless — he was nearly always busy with something. Breda insisted it was usual for him; Farman was worried the prince was trying to get as many things done as he could before the petals killed him. Whatever it was, it was bad for the prince: the cough repeated several times a week, usually after a day of physical exercise; it was a happy coincidence that the court didn’t know yet of his illness.
But Ed couldn’t do much: Van Hohenheim reminded him on regular basis that the prince’s fate is in his own hands; Ed couldn’t save him if the prince didn’t want to be saved. All Ed could do was to give him tisanes and strengthening pills; the prince didn’t listen to his advice about getting rest anyway.
The closest to slowing down that the prince did was visiting the queen and her ladies-in-waiting; he and his retinue, the rowdy bunch, usually stormed in her chambers with a sole purpose to distract and interrupt; but Queen Riza didn’t mind. Ed knew they were childhood friends, raised together, but he never was curious about it; now he was learning more. The queen grew up with her father, Sir Berthold Hawkeye, son-in-law of the current Lord High Chancellor; and her father was the prince’s childhood teacher after his parents died.
Apparently, it was expected that they’d get married; but she accepted King Zolf’s proposal. Al was convinced the prince was still in love with her; Ed disagreed. The prince surely loved her, but as a sister, nothing more; she returned the feeling.
Still, her company calmed him down for some time — enough time, at least, for Ed to catch his breath; slowly Ed caught himself thinking that he likes these quiet afternoons with the queen and her ladies. In Dublith he and Al were often spending time with Lady Izumi and her circle; Queen Riza’s afternoons reminded him of it.
The prince, however, was not fully satisfied; even with all his activities, hunting, training, jousting, he was still not busy enough; he complained to Ed several times during their regular check-ups that he’s ‘wasting time’ at the court. Ed agreed; however, for his condition wasting time was preferred compared to what Prince Roy wanted — to go back to Ishval to fight. Luckily, the news from Ishval was good — Aerugovians were still too scared to try to attack again, and Basque Grand, the Margrave of Dar Rheos, reported that everything was in perfect order. He was not yet notified of the prince’s condition; the king thought it unwise. No need to raise panic; the prince wasn’t dying yet. Still, the prince was treated as too fragile to fight, and King Zolf wanted to keep him close. Visiting Lady Chris or Lady Izumi was also out of question: one coughing fit, and the cat would be out of the bag.
The prince, however, persisted; finally the king gave up.
“Jay said I’m allowed to visit a garrison of my choice!” the prince proclaimed one day, returning to his chambers where the retinue was playing dice. Everybody groaned; Ed looked around, confused.
“Which garrison is that?” he asked. The prince smiled, extremely satisfied with himself.
“Briggs! I love that one, you know? My favorite after Dar Rheos.”
Ed clenched his fists. “Briggs? The coldest place in the whole country? In mid-spring? In your condition, when you’re supposed to avoid all dangers so you won’t catch a cold? Are you out of your mind, Your Grace?”
The prince pouted. “I’m not that sick yet to catch a cold from every breeze.”
“These breezes in the North are said to destroy villages, aren’t they?” Ed mused, looking straight at the prince.
“Alright then, doc. Tell me, when I can go to Briggs. In the summer, while the court is progressing, and the war in Ishval is breaking out? In the autumn, when northern chilly winds are the strongest? In the winter, when it’s freezing so that even Drachmans can’t stand it? And my condition isn’t getting better, so it’s likely that you’ll just lock me inside when the winter comes. Let me go, so I could at least say goodbye to Olivier and her crew. For hell’s sake, I want to feel alive , and I surely won’t if I am chained to my nurses!”
Ed signed. His arguments were sound — and still Ed wasn’t enthusiastic about the trip.
“Will it make you feel better for some time?” he asked hopelessly. The moodiness and melancholy were dangerous in Prince Roy’s case; these flowers poisoned patient’s bodily humors, and many and many ended up dying not from the flowers blocking the air, but rather killed themselves, drowned in their grief and sadness. Entertaining the patient was important; if a trip to the North can keep the prince alive for longer, they should definitely grab the chance until King Zolf changed his mind.
“Promise we’ll return if the disease progresses too fast,” Ed finally said. The prince nodded.
“Of course. Do you have any fitting clothes?”
Ed made a face. “No. Only for Central’s winter, but I suppose Briggs in April is much colder.”
Prince Roy laughed. “Oh yes, yes it is! That is not an issue, though. Decide how many things you will need, and take half of those. We travel light, so you better get used to it. I’ll give a list to your father of things Olivier ordered, he’ll know.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Fine. If he wanted it that much, Ed’d have to deal with it. And still, his choice of place was weird; Briggs wasn’t a place where people went on their own accord. Ed had heard that in the winter there are days when the sun doesn’t rise at all, and in the summer it can shine for several days without setting; and a lot had been said about the freezing cold.
Alright; Ed’d see for himself. Who knew — what if he liked it? He was afraid of Central’s winter in the first year, but it turned out to be quite nice; when their father had lured him and Al outside to have a snowball fight soon after arrival, they stayed there playing till the dark. Maybe Briggs would be nice too; at least Ed had a feeling his new friends will enjoy some snowballs.