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It’s a long way up to the top of the Amestrian Central command. Considering the entire monstrosity is built on an enormous pedestal it’s not that surprising. He’d forgotten precisely how high the structure was, or maybe, as a homunculus he never really noticed. Gaining access to the mammoth structure, from what he’s been told, is nearly impossible due to civil unrest in the country over the last ten years. However, when you’re personal friends with the Fuhrer, it helps matters.
Ling looks across the concrete courtyard area to the high wall surrounding this balcony area. He has a sudden impulse to leap up onto the wall to look down at the rest of the Central Command and the foreign city beyond with its rows and rows of identical type drab buildings. There was a time he wouldn’t have hesitated at such a rash move, but he knows to do so now wouldn’t be very becoming of an Emperor. At the very least it would cause confusion, at the worst it would detract from why they’re here and he couldn’t possibly let himself dishonor an ancestor in such a manner. Instead he turns from the high, gray brick wall to Lan Fan who’s finishing the preparations to honor her grandfather.
Traditionally this honor would be performed twelve years after a revered ancestor’s death, but considering the only reason they’re here at all is due to Fuhrer Mustang’s generosity he was loath to complain. With the tumultuous times this country has endured after the fall of Bradley and the rest of the Promised Day, he and Lan Fan had given up all hope of ever performing this ritual at the site of Fu’s death. They never anticipated that the new Fuhrer would allow and facilitate private and public memorials for all those who died in that bizarre battle. He heard that another “service” was performed in this same area this morning for the soldier who died alongside their honored dead. He only wishes he could remember the brave man’s name.
Buckland…Buckley….
Ling shakes his head and promises himself to ask someone later. The dead should never be so disgraced as to be forgotten. The least he can do is remember the burley Captain’s name who fought just as valiantly as his own guard. He moves closer to Lan Fan as he can see she’s nearly done with all of her preparations. It’s almost time.
Over the last ten years Lan Fan has continued to be his most trusted guard. She and her family line are the most honored of all Imperial guards now and she has taken the lead in ensuring the safety of he and his family in a way that would make Fu immensely proud. However, that is not her role today. Today there are no Imperial masks or efficient fighting attire. Today she is the humble and respectful descendant of a great and honored man.
Ling looks over the flowing ceremonial gown she wears and from the back he almost wouldn’t recognize her with the intricate twisted and asymmetrical bun adorned with lotus blossoms and ornamental hair sticks passed down in her family for generations. Long straight plaits of her hair hang over her shoulders in a way he’s never seen on her before and her face is painted a pale white with deep red lips and soft pink over her eyes. He knows she took great pains to follow all the respectful customs and with the exception of gleaming silver automail peeking out from under the long flowing left sleeve of her dress she’s the perfect picture of a dotingly respectful female descendant.
Lan Fan’s dress of soft greens and blue adorned with golden stitching of ornamental blossoms pools around her kneeling form. As she reaches into the folds of her dress for a match to light the incense Ling takes his place, sitting cross legged across from her. A picture of their honored dead sits on a metal plate between them along with small, traditional rice cakes made from her own hand. At the end of the ceremony, the cakes and picture will be burned as an offering, but for now they are an open invitation to Fu’s honored spirit.
Lan Fan looks up at him with dark, serious eyes and he nods his assent as she strikes a match and lights the small crimson cone of incense. The scents of agarwood and sandalwood along with other herbs fill the air and Ling inhales the scent. There is nothing more reverent than this moment and Ling places his hands on his knees, palms up, as a welcoming gesture as he bows his head respectfully. It’s the time to remember Fu’s life and his head will remained bowed until it’s time to light the sacrifices.
“I, Lan Fan, granddaughter of Fu, guardian of the sacred Yao line, supplicate myself in honor of my most revered ancestor.” Lan Fan deeply bows her head then begins the traditional retelling of the honored dead’s life. “My ancestor Fu was born on the banks of the fertile Qi river and honorably took up the task as protector of the Yao line at a young age. He gave his life in the protection of our Emperor, then Prince, and I retell his story as it is my story as well and the story of my future descendants.”
The drifting smoke of the incense wafts around them and Ling loses himself to the solemn quality of her voice. He has many memories of his own concerning Fu, but even as Emperor it is not his place to recite them now. That time will come later, after night fall, when they light the floating paper lotus blossoms and send them into the river. For now Fu’s story may only be told by one of his descendants and Ling is honored she asked him to be a part.
~*~*~*~
Fu’s remembrance ceremony was every bit as moving as he expected it to be, even if it was performed two years early. Ling has wondered if Fuhrer Mustang truly understood the significance of his gift to Lan Fan. He’ll need to make sure and convey that before their departure. As it is the Fuhrer has planned an extravagant fireworks display to take place over the river for all the honored dead so he has doubts on whether he’ll be able to express his gratitude tonight. But for now, he’s thankful for a moment alone. He’ll need to apologize later for slipping away from his guards as Lan Fan changed out of her most formal attire. She won’t be pleased with him, but he had no choice.
Ling slips between the trees at the edge of the main courtyard in Central Command. The center part of the courtyard is filled with soldiers and others invited to honor those who fell on that day ten years ago. The stones in the main gathering area have been repaired and ideally it would be the location for what he needs to do. But as much as tradition is cherished, it’s not carved in stone. If his rule in Xing has been about anything that would be the main theme: mixing old with new to unify and bring his country into the future. Now, it seems, he’ll have to do a little adapting of his own.
Ling makes his way under a large tree where he finds a surprising bit of privacy. It’s here he sinks down into the grass and pulls out an unadorned metal plate, similar to but much simpler than the one Lan Fan used to honor Fu. He smiles to himself because he knows it’s wholly inadequate, especially for the one he needs to honor. He places the plate on the grass before him and pulls a folded piece of paper from his formal robes. It’s a horrible rendering of the presence that once occupied his mind, but it’s the only picture he has, crudely drawn as it is. He places it on the center of the plate and smiles at the sad sight.
“I’m sorry, my friend. You deserve the finest portrait gold can buy. Please accept my inadequacies as an artist.”
He smiles at the angry voice he can nearly hear in his head, scoffing at the sad pittance of a tribute. He closes his eyes, wishing the voice was real but he knows it’s only an echo in his mind. He holds on to the imaginary memory another moment then opens his eyes and adds two small sweet buns to the plate. They weren’t completely made by his own hand, and they aren’t a traditional offering, but they are something he remembers Greed enjoying, albeit with his body. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.
Ling places the traditional cone incense before the plate then lights it with a simple match. He knows that no one else will understand his need for this, considering Greed in many people’s eyes was a monster and not an honored ancestor. It’s the reason he didn’t even tell Lan Fan about this plan of his. But for him, it’s necessary. He lost a piece of himself that Promised Day ten years ago that he’s never been able to replace. Greed was part of him, and as far as he can see that makes him an ancestor and worthy of his respect and honor. He inhales deeply of the incense for the second time this day and begins to recite his own cobbled together tradition.
“I, Ling Yao, Emperor of Xing and one time homunculus and part of the one known as Greed, supplicate myself in honor or my revered ancestor.” Ling bows his head deeply and envisions Greed the way he was inside, the way only he ever saw him, and he remembers the connection they forged as they shared his body. “My ancestor, my friend, Greed was born from the avarice of his father and he thirsted to have the entire world at his command. He gave his life in the protection of this land and his friends, of who I count myself as one, and I retell his story as it is my story as well and the story of my future descendants.”
Ling sinks into the memories, ones that were spoken and ones that he felt as Greed shared his body. Their connection was not only one of cohabitation, but of something much deeper than he could ever explain. But he’ll try. He’ll try to tell his story to the best of his knowledge so that Greed may be remembered and revered as part of his own ancestral line. He may have drifted away in a waft of crumbling ash, but he lives on in Ling and will for all his future generations to come.