Author's note:

OFF HIATUSSSSS

And I'm just kind of picking randomly from the theme list now. Yeah.

Thank you to everyone who's favorited or watched this story since the last chapter *distributes cookies* Speaking of cookies, IvyShort owes me, like, fifty...

Story's not mine. Nope. Definitely not.

4. White Linen

Lanfan's expectation after she explains things to her family is of a small, quiet burial, nothing that would offend the nobles. They don't have the money for anything more, anyway, but the secondary clans are superstitious and never neglect a death, even if it happened two months ago. And for the most part, she gets what she expected. The wooden deity statues in their clan's training hall are covered, white cloth hung over the door. They have no mirrors to take down. Servants have no time for such vanities.

She wears blue to the ceremony, as do her brothers. Her mother wears black and keeps a hand on the small of Lanfan's back through the formal procedure, until she is called upon to offer her wishes for her father's soul. Lanfan's uncle follows, then his wife.

Then it is her turn. She steps forward quietly and says what they expect to her: I suffer from this loss, may the spirit meet no obstacles on its way to whatever awaits, and when everyone has had their turn, it is her duty as the last person to see her grandfather alive to tell how he lost his life.

She looks around at the rows of silent family, sees herself in them, and yet she has never felt so far from the people she calls kin. Her place is with the one in the coffin in the island of grass there on the hillside, her place is not in this world. She does not deserve to stand unscathed among the living.

Her throat works.

"My grandfather died -" She stops and starts again. "He -"

A bodyguard who has truly done his job well falls serving his master, cut down by a blade meant for the one who he is sworn to. Fuu died to avenge her. Not his prince, but his granddaughter. Not her death, but her arm. One small, agonizingly trivial piece of a small and trivial person.

On the journey home she was all comfort, telling the young lord what he wanted to hear. Everything went as well as could be expected, she assured him when he asked, after Chang had gone to bed every night. We knew nothing would be the same afterward. But she had never had an answer to the question she knew he really meant: How do you feel about it?

How do you think it went?

How would your grandfather feel?

But of course the young lord was not that cruel. She could not allow herself to think such things, especially not at the burial of her grandfather, who would have punished her severely if he heard her voice these ideas. She winced a little and silently reprimanded herself before stepping forward and beginning the account of her grandfather's death.

"...Lanfan."

She hadn't known he was still awake, and her feet almost slip on the tree branch she is perched on outside his bedroom. "Yes, young lord?"

"Where is Fuu buried?"

"In our family burial ground, young lord." Where else would he be buried?

"I mean, where is that? It's not near ours. I mean, the main family's."

"No, young lord, it is further away. On the other side of our clan facilities."

"Hmm." She doesn't like the sound of that. "How long does it take to get there?"

"On foot?"

"Yes."

"...About an hour?"

"No, I mean how long would it take us?"

She smiles a little inside her mask. "Half an hour, young lord."

She likes that "us". The pressure in her throat unwinds a little.

"...Can I visit him?"

"Of course, young lord." She can't say some part of her wasn't expecting this, maybe even anticipating it, and he hasn't let her down. "When would you like to go? I can ask –"

She hears him throw the covers back and the mattress move as his feet move across the floor. She turns, and Ling is leaning out the window, watching her as she shifts a little on her branch in the moonlight, flushing for no reason at all. "Let's go now," he says quietly.

He knows she'll protest, and raises his eyebrows to stop her as she opens her mouth. It's not an order, and he doesn't want to make it one.

Lanfan closes her mouth and jumps, landing deftly and soundlessly on the windowsill next to him. "As you wish," she says softly, half-bowing.

Besides, she wants to go too. Some things can only be said in certain company.

The hill on which her family's burial ground rests is quiet, cool and breezy in the night. It seems almost as if the summer night winds move the entire rise, not the grasses and trees on it. She inhales deeply, relishing the feel of the air through her nostrils, then feels ashamed for...for breathing. Not everyone is so lucky.

Her grandfather's grave is near the top, along with others who died later in life, on the opposite side from his son-in-law's. Her mother spent the evening sitting at Lanfan's father's grave, speaking so quietly that Lanfan wasn't sure if her lips were moving. At some point in life, everyone in her clan loses everything – their parents, partner, siblings. Her master has taken this well for someone unaccustomed to losing things. Then she thinks about that. Does that mean she is accustomed to it? Is she really?

There is much I still have to experience, she tells herself sternly, and looks at her prince, waiting.

Ling's eyes trace Fuu's name on the stone. It occurs to Lanfan suddenly that he might not want her to hear what he has to say, and she backs away awkwardly, careful not to knock into anything.

Ling clears his throat. He glances back at Lanfan, who stands silently a few meters away, respectfully out of earshot. Her face is covered by her mask, and for once he has no idea what she's thinking or feeling. In fact, he has no idea what he himself feels.

He kneels in front of the headstone. "I think," he begins, clears his throat again, and tries again. "I think I knew – well, I know I knew why you did this. Fuu. I'm sorry. Not that you died – well, of course! How could I not be sorry about that! But, I mean, I'm sorry about Lanfan. Because it was my fault that I couldn't – " He can almost hear the echoes of Greed now. Coward. "That I didn't protect her in the first place. And if I had been a good enough master, or leader, or – friend, then you would never have had to sacrifice yourself like you did."

He wonders vaguely if he should be crying. Then he wishes he were. That would give Lanfan an excuse to draw back a little more, and he doesn't really want her to hear what he has to say here. Not yet.

"This is my fault," he breathes, leaning closer, meaning it. "I am so, so sorry. You have no idea. Really. I'm sorry. Nothing I can say –"

His voice breaks. He doesn't sound like himself, and Lanfan swallows behind him and turns her face away. Which is his chance, of course. He has to say it now, while she's worrying.

"You were worried about Lanfan," he tells Fuu. "I know. I'm sorry. I know how much you cared about her and I do too and I can't be you, I can't teach her anything like you did, no one can, I guess, and nobody can teach me as much as you, either. My mother spends thousands of jin on tutors and instructors and people who are supposed to teach me about politics and proper etiquette and things, but I haven't really learned anything. You taught me - you taught us how to read lips and forge identities and conceal weapons and all these things that most people go their whole lives without knowing, and now they're a part of who I am, I have all these bits of knowledge that have saved my life over and over again. Thank you. Thank you. I can't possibly repay you."

Fuu would say there is nothing to be repaid. But there is, and while Ling knows nothing he can do or say will be enough to pay the due he owes, not now, he can try.

"I'll look after her," he whispers. "Don't worry. I promise. I'll look after her. I'll make her happy. I'll do anything. I'm so sorry. Thank you."

His eyes hurt. Not like he's going to cry - dammit - but like they're tired of seeing things that he can't undo. He gets to his feet, not looking at the grave.

"Let's go back," he says, too loudly. Lanfan's eyes follow him. He tries to grin at her reassuringly like he did when they were twelve, but it doesn't feel right anymore.

She swallows and pulls off her mask. "I do not know what you said to him, young lord," she says quietly, "but whatever it is I believe that he would have been grateful to hear it. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ling tells her, and means it.

Author's note: I know, I know, this seems like it has nothing to do with white or linen. Well, THINK AGAIN. *dramatic music* I realized I hadn't written anything Fuu-centric (at least that I had posted) so I kind of forced him into this one. Sorry, Fuu. *cowers in corner while Fuu hunts me down*

The monetary unit jin for Xing is not canon. If Amestris doesn't use marks, Xing doesn't use yuan. Jin is the Chinese word for gold. Anyone have a better idea? I haven't even seen anyone use an alternative in a story. Ah well.

Reviews are, as always, much appreciated. *bakes more cookies*

*reluctantly hands mic to IvyShort*

*reluctantly hands Sunarose cookies* That was beautiful. I only had to beta a tiny bit.

*non-reluctantly eats cookies, bows*