Chapter Text
There comes a time in every mans life when he must step forwards and admit defeat. When he must accept his fate, resign himself, and refuse to run any longer. The first time the rumours started it was easy to quench them, to gain help from his advisors and stop the spillage before it went throughout his kingdom. He’d managed to stop people from talking out loud and asking questions, but that did nothing to stop them from whispering.
The third week after his return to Xing, Ling had experienced several misfortunes. Three of his advisors had left, and nobody knew of their whereabouts. He was short on guards in the palace due to an unnamed sickness, and his people were restless. Something was not right. They were upset about Amestris and the shooting, and more importantly about his arm. They said he was weaker now, that the weapon he now supports is nothing more than a weak point for enemies. They didn’t trust him anymore, and they didn’t trust Amestris.
Hate campaigns started and there had been several reports across their line of a boarder breach. Xingese people were seeking revenge, and assassination attempts on the Fuhur were increasing. The week after his return and things grew worse. His advisors had come back speaking of lies and betrayal, of how they wanted to cut all ties with Amestris and try for somewhere in the East. They wanted to completely disregard Amestris, even though their shared knowledge could make both countries the most powerful known to man. This was their call, and Ling argued against it for all he was worth. Then came the threats.
“My lord, forgive me but… if we do not get our way then there will be resistance. The people have been hoarding. They want changes, they want revenge. They want to try for the East instead of the West. We want change. And we want you to comply, otherwise things may become rather… sticky.”
“Emperor, we request that you turn your political affairs away fro Amestris. We demand change.”
“Ling Yao, you will be brought to light. Your sins brought to the public. Your lies will be known, unless you comply.”
And thus the rumours started once more. Once again he was trapped in a mass of whispers and lies and fear. Ling would pace his throne room while he spoke to Lan Fan, trying their best to come up with a solution where none could be found. Things were not going well.
In a last attempt to bring himself some comfort before he attempted some form of control over his country, Ling wrote to Ed.
Edward,
Things in Xing are not going as I would hope. It has been a month since my leave from you and I miss you every day. I miss Amestris, and the lack of responsibility. I miss you, most of all, my beloved. I wish I could return soon, but I fear it may be a long time until I can.
My people know a lot more than they let on, and I’m scared that they’ll soon have more numbers than I. They will soon be able to influence my power more than I can, and I cannot have that. As emperor, my duty is to my people, but even more so to my country. I need them to see this. I cannot fail as their king.
You may not hear from me for a while, Ed. I’m going to be working harder than ever to right these wrongs. They blame Amestris for my shooting and they think me weak because of my arm. I have to fix this.
I love you. Think of me.
Love, Your Idiot Prince.
Another three weeks passed without much incident, other than a few more aggressive threats. Ling knew what they were threatening, and it angered him more so than he could admit. To tell his country about his relationship with Ed would destroy him, and all that he had done. He would loose his crown, his favour of other countries, and he could very well be exiled. Worse case scenario, they called for execution.
In a way, Ling found it peaceful. Execution wasn’t the worst thing they could do to him at this point. There were worse things in life than loosing his crown and life. Loosing Ed would be much worse.
On the third month riots began. Xingese people broke into the palace, stole things and sprayed messages on the walls. They tore his throne room apart and in turn, wore him down inch my inch. Ling was at his last straw, when the mobs came.
His last few faithful servants were slaughtered in their attempt to keep him safe, all aside from Lan Fan. She fought off who she could, but was subdued and bound. Ling didn’t even attempt to fight as the hoard manhandled him away from his room and into his own courtyard, where people were waiting with furious tension. But it was okay.
It was okay when he was forced to his knees before the crown on the steps of his own palace. It was okay when he saw May to the side, trying her best to give him stern looks over her watery eyes. It was okay, because most of this was planned. May had infiltrated their system, and she had managed to give herself the political influence needed to become the empress. He trusted her to take his position. Now, all he felt was peace. Death would come soon.
Unfortunately he hadn’t thought far ahead to this point. He’d been expecting a swift execution, but it was not the case. His executioner read off a long list of paper the damages he’d done. They called him a traitor for having an affair with an Amestrian. They said he was blinded and unfit to lead. They spoke of how he’d been fooled and blinded, that he was nothing more than a puppet for Amestrian usage.
Ling stayed silent through this. He kept his head bowed, for every time he attempted to look over at his people a hand would force his neck down. He felt his coat be stripped from him with rough hands, and his shirt follow soon after. Humiliating the young Lord in front of his people was the beginning, only the beginning. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, breath coming quicker as two men behind him began the trial. One grabbed his hair in a fist and hauled it upwards, and the other brought a swift sword down across it. He lost what the man had held, and watched it fall to the round beside his knees. Ling stared blankly at the dark locks, realising that they were lit up by a fire he had not noticed. It was darker now, and the light from people’s torches and beacons were the only illumination to his darkness.
He could hear people cheering in the crowd, a strong jeering that had him tensing. He was forced forwards after a moment, his bound hands sliding to the first step and down to the second, pushing him into a bowing position even worse than the first. Something was taken from the fire pit, and Ling felt his entire body tense. He said nothing, uttered nothing, and made sure to keep as still as possible. There was no use fighting this. The humiliation had come with the lies he’d told his country. He deserved this. He had betrayed his country and people.
They chanted it over and over, spitting words of hate at him as the rebels attempted to keep the crowd back while they worked. The hot metal lifted from the fire pit was close, he could feel it on his back. His breathing came quicker, and Ling shut his eyes against the wetness he felt beading. The poker was pressed lightly against his lower back, and sounds of laughter as he flinched forwards sounded from behind him. He felt someone shout a command and took the moment to right himself up to his knees, before suddenly being hauled up to his feet. Two men held his arms apart, the binding from his wrists gone. He fell onto one knee and ducked his head, breathing heavily as his scorched skin glowed red. It was okay. It wasn’t a bad burn. Just across his ribs, nothing too serious. Just across his back. If he could get to water it wouldn’t hurt anymore. If he could just-
The poker came down again, and this time he cried out. It was not just a poker as he’d thought, nothing like the hot piece of metal he’d had in mind. This was a brand. The head of it was in the shape of letters, something in Xingese he couldn’t determine from his position. He screamed as it pushed into his flesh, the smell of burning ripe in his nose. He fought against the tight hold of the two men who were already leaving bruises, and one of them struck him in the stomach with his knee. The other did the same, only this collided with his face. His eye could bruise because of this.
The torment was not over, and Ling had to endure three more burns to his back. The first across his shoulders, the second lower down, and the third across his lower back. All of it was Xingese, and he had a fair idea of what the names could be. In a time like this, all he could do was attempt to loose himself in a dream. He closed his eyes, begging for the cold blanket of unconsciousness, and thought of Ed.
Edward Elric with his golden eyes and hair, with his touches so soft he wanted nothing more than to stay twined in his embrace for eternity. Ed, with his good humour and good morals, who would stop at nothing for his family and friends. Ed, who he loved more than anything. Ed, whom he wanted nothing more than to spend his entire life with. Ed, whom he gave up his crown for.
He must have fallen unconscious for he awoke to a sharp sting across his jaw. He’d been hit with the metal pole, still hot enough to singe his cheek and brow. Blood welled from the cut it made, and Ling caught himself on the floor before he could fall. He couldn’t see much, but he thought it was over. That the cheering was significant of the torture coming to an end. He hoped they’d had their fill of his blood, or that his death would bring them peace. He’d failed his country, and he was prepared to accept defeat.
What surprised him was the shouts from the crowd and sudden clashing of swords. Even more surprising was the shouts of surprise, and Lan Fan’s voice in his ear. She was distressed, and she was crying, and Ling wanted nothing more than to comfort her. She needn’t be sad when his time was coming to an end. Ed had told him not to cry for loved ones leaving, for it only made them sad in the next world too. His attempt at speaking was lost and he found himself under the blanket of black, where nothing hurt and he could finally find peace.