Fullmetal Alchemist, "Gold of the Earth," Belsio/Nash, Ed/Russel, PG
Here's the story for 20_inkspots prompt #8, "If you want me to." I started it back before goldphish_bowl proposed the challenge community, inspired by a story faerie_speak told me about making up bedtime stories about Russel and Edward.
The two came together, and this is what I got. It's longer than most of my 20_inkspots stories, but I think it's good that way. Have a read and let me know what you think?
Our contributions for 20_inkspots, in chronological order:
1895: "Holding Back" (#2)
1906: "Dawn for a Dying Man" (#16)
1910: "In the Heat of the Moment" (#1)
1910: "The Pain of Holding On" (#19)
1910: "A Breath of Fresh Air" (#5)
1913: "Strays, part 1" (#3)
1913: "Strays, part 2" (#17)
1913: "Strays, part 3" (#12)
1914: "Everyone Together, All Alone" (#10)
1914: "Sins of the Father" (#14)
1915: "Ask" (#20)
1915: "Keeping Secrets" (#6)
1915: "The Father I Never Was" (#9)
1915: "Timeless" (#18)
1915: "Balance" (#11)
1917: "A Father's Pride and Joy" (#15)
1918: "The Unexpected Gift of Fatherhood (#7)
1918: "Adjustment" (#4)
1918: "Gold of the Earth" (#8)
Will be updated as more stories are added. ^_^
Gold of the Earth
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Russel Tringham is growing up. Grown up, even, in many ways.
His voice no longer cracks when he raises it, fighting with his younger brother. He wears the same size shoes as his foster-father. He has to shave every morning, his chin bristly with stubble by midday if he doesn't.
Nash recognizes all of these facts. He's proud of his boy, proud of the man Russel has become.
But still. There are limits to his patience.
Therefore, when his son disappears into the back bedroom with Edward Elric, two nights after it has come to Nash's attention that his son is more than friends with the Elric boy, Nash follows them, knocking on the bedroom door when he finds it closed and locked.
"Your father," he says, when Russel calls out, wanting to know who's there. "I'd like a word with you, please."
There's muffled cursing and shuffling and clanking that sounds suspiciously like a belt-buckle, after that, Russel's shirt buttoned up wrong and Edward's hair messy when they do finally open the door. Russel blushes and mumbles an excuse about wrestling, while Edward stands behind him, glaring.
Nash raises an eyebrow at them. "Wrestling?" he says.
"Um, yeah," says Russel. "Wrestling. Why? What did you need to talk to me about?"
He looks miserable. Embarrassed and uncomfortable and probably a little angry, Nash supposes, maybe even a bit frustrated. Caught in the middle of doing what comes naturally to any man his age, when he's taken the care-Nash has to give him some credit-to be as discreet as he can.
But still. There are limits to what he can turn a blind eye towards. Edward's hand on Russel's thigh, all through dinner, is one of them. The lovebite darkening just above the collar of Edward's shirt, one which appeared mysteriously sometime during the day, is another.
Sneaking off to fondle each other in a room so close to the sitting room where their younger brothers sit, playing chess, however ...
"I thought perhaps you'd like to join us in the sitting room," Nash says. "It's a bit drafty back here, so far from the fire and all."
Edward's sweaty, and Russel seems hot and bothered. Nash tries not to think about it.
He motions towards the light of the sitting room. "Shall we?"
His son nods without speaking, reaching back to lace his fingers with Edward's as he follows Nash down the hall. They sit together on the floor near the fire, tense and silent, looking grumpy as they watch Fletcher lose at chess.
The silence is nearly suffocating.
"What a dreary night," Nash says, finally, looking out the window at the rain splattering wetly against the glass as he leans forward to pick up the glass of wine he'd abandoned in favor of interrupting his son's wrestling match with Edward, before. "Someone should tell a story. Used to do that on nights like this when I was a boy, sit around the fire and tell stories."
Russel and Edward ignore him. John nods solemnly.
"Your father told very tall tales, if memory serves," he says, quietly.
Nash laughs. "He did, but they were always entertaining, at least," he says. "Wish I'd written some of them down. They were fun."
Fletcher rises and stretches, settling into one of the armchairs beside the sofa. "You should tell one, Dad," he says.
"You're just saying that 'cause you're tired of me beating you at chess," says Al, rising as well to curl up with Fletcher in the chair.
Fletcher giggles and snuggles close to his friend. "Meh, I let you win," he says.
Al snorts. "You're just as bad as my brother," he says, nudging Edward's shoulder with his toes, which earns him a glare in return.
"So," says Nash. "A story. What kind of story do you want?"
"Something scary," says Fletcher.
"Something not scary," says Al. "Fletcher'll have nightmares."
Russel chuckles. Fletcher pouts. "Will not," he says.
"Will too," says Al.
"Will not," says Fletcher. He looks at his father imploringly. "I won't, really."
Nash nods, trying not to laugh. "I don't know any scary stories anyway. Sorry," he says. He looks to his lover, resting his hand on the man's knee. "Do you, John?"
John shakes his head. "None that bear repeating, no."
"Would you tell us one of your stories?" says Fletcher. "I want Al to hear one of your stories."
John blinks at him. "I think perhaps Nash could better-"
"Nonsense," says Nash. "C'mon John. Tell us a story."
John clears his throat, looking from his lover to Fletcher and back again. "Well then," he says. "If you want me to."
"Yeah!" says Fletcher, bouncing up and down a little.
John colors up a bit, then clears his throat again. "Very well."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Once upon a time, in a land far away, in a very small town, there lived a very poor farmer who had two sons. He was a good man, well-liked and well-known for his habit of telling fantastic tall tales, tales which grew taller when fed good strong liquor.
No one believed his stories, but they were fun to listen to, so everyone encouraged him to tell them whenever possible.
After some time, a rich baron moved into the town and built himself a mansion on the hill. Because he was very rich, he avoided mingling with the townspeople, which secretly pleased the people to no end. He wanted nothing to do with them, and they wanted nothing to do with him.
Which worked out, well enough, until the evening of the Fire Festival, when the poor farmer became inebriated and, under the encouragement of his fellow townspeople, stood up to tell one of his fantastic tall tales.
"Have I ever told you," he called out across the eager crowd, "of my eldest son's great talent?"
Upon the answering calls of "no!" and "tell us!" the farmer grinned widely and cleared his throat, holding up his hands for silence.
"My son," he said, "can turn ordinary straw, into gold."
The people cheered loudly. As far as the farmer's tall tales went, this was one of the most outlandish. Straw into gold ... and from a boy who'd never done more than turn peanut butter and bread into a sandwich for his younger brother!
(Which, one might argue, was better than turning straw into gold any day.)
"Tell us more!" cried the crowd.
The farmer beamed. "Indeed," he said. "My son could turn an entire store-room of straw into threads of gold, the finest gold in the world. Gold so pure, you could weave it into a gown worthy of the queen herself!"
Now at this point, the farmer would normally elaborate, working his newest tale into an old fairytale, the characters and plot falling into jumbled confusion before the end of the story, which didn't give the listener any sense of closure, but was really quite entertaining to watch.
On that night, however, the farmer did not have a chance to muddle through the rest of his story. He was interrupted by the booming voice of the baron, whom no one had ever seen before, and therefore had not recognized, mixed in with the others in the crowd.
"Such fantastic things you say your son can do," said the baron. "I should very much like to see these feats accomplished, myself."
The farmer, who had never much liked the baron to begin with, narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?" he said. "Well that's too bad, my son's gold is far too great for a lowly man like you."
The baron grinned. "Is that so?" he said, in mockery of the farmer. "I think your son will come with me, sir, as you are far behind in your taxes and have no choice, really. Perhaps, if he spins enough gold both to pay your taxes and to pay for the hay I will be supplying him, then you may have him back and keep your miserable little farm. How does that sound, hmm?"
At this point, the farmer-drunken and frightened-became enraged and launched himself at the baron, but he was restrained by an old friend, who knew better than to drink in public.
"You can't take my son!" cried the farmer, struggling as his elder son was led away by the rich baron. "Please ... if not for my sake, think of the boy's younger brother! Siblings ought not be separated!"
The baron turned, grinning still. "Is that so?" he said. "Then perhaps we'll take your other son, as well."
Then, laughing over the sound of the farmer's anguished cries, he departed, dragging both of the boys along behind him.
~*~*~*~
In the baron's mansion, up in the highest tower, the farmer's sons sat, huddled together amidst heaps of hay, the younger son trembling hard enough that his teeth chattered.
"Brother," he said, "what are we going to do? Father was just telling a tale, you can't really make hay into gold. Can you?"
His brother shook his head. "No," he said, "I can't. No man can."
"Oh?" said a voice from the rafters, frightening the brothers so badly that they jumped. "Are you quite sure of that?"
The brothers looked up into the high rafters of their room, eyes widening at the sight that greeted them. Perched among the cobwebs and shadows was a man, easily as old as the elder brother, yet no larger than the younger. His hair and eyes were as brilliant as the gold the brothers had been charged with creating, and he was wrapped head-to-toe in a garment of deep scarlet, his hands clothed in gloves as white as spring clouds. With a grin and a wink, he leapt down from the rafters, down-down-down into the hay heaped up all around, cursing as he waded across the floor to the spot cleared around the brothers, his boots loud against the flagstone floor.
"I bid you greetings, unfortunate sons of the foolish farmer," said the strange little man, bowing low, the effect only partly ruined by the hay yet clinging to his robes. "I have come to offer you my services, as I believe I may be able to help you out of your predicament. For an equivalent and fair exchange, of course."
The older brother put his arm around his sibling, drawing the boy protectively close. "Services?" he said. "You don't mean to suggest that you are able to turn all of this straw-" he motioned around the room with a sweep of his free hand "-into gold?"
The strange little man's grin widened. "Indeed, I do suggest such a feat," he said. "But in exchange, you must give me something. Tell me, do you have anything of value?"
The older brother sighed. "Nothing," he said. "My father is a poor man. We have nothing but our integrity. Nothing but our honesty and strength of will."
"Ah, I see," said the strange little man. "Well. I can't very well give you a room of gold in exchange for nothing, can I?"
"We're not asking you for a room of gold in exchange for nothing," said the older brother. "I'm just saying ... we have nothing."
"You're absolutely certain?" said the strange little man.
The older brother nodded. "I'm certain," he said.
But before the strange little man could turn and leave them alone, trapped amidst the heaps of hay, the younger brother spoke up, his voice shaking a little.
"Wait," he said. "We don't ... we don't have it with us, but our father's father had a sword. One which our father gave to my brother as a family heirloom when Brother turned fifteen. We can't give it to you right now, but we can promise-on our honor and integrity-that we'll give it to you, once we're freed."
The strange little man arched an eyebrow at him. "A sword, eh?" he said. "Is it a good sword?"
The younger brother blushed and shook his head. "No," he said. "In fact, I don't think a duel has been ever fought under its use. But it is rather pretty, and because it's not very useful, it's in good condition."
"I see," said the strange little man. He stroked his chin and looked around, then smiled down at the younger brother. "Well. I happen to know a powerful witch who has a 'thing' for metal objects. I suppose this sword of yours would suffice as a birthday gift for her. Even better that it's not very good, it won't hurt so badly if she hits me with it, that way."
"You get beat up by a witch?" said the older brother, wide-eyed.
"She's no ordinary witch," said the strange little man, with a shudder. "So. You'll trade me your sword in exchange for turning all of this hay into gold?"
The older brother nodded. "On my family's honor, we will uphold our end of the agreement," he said.
"Done," said the strange little man.
Then with a clap of his hands and a burst of light, he knelt to the ground and turned every last piece of straw into gold. At the brothers' look of awe, he grinned and clapped his hands, once again, weaving the newly-made gold into yards and yards of fine gold silk, more beautiful even than the new day's sunlight shining across a field of grain.
"I will wait for you in the lemon orchard," he said, pointing one gloved finger at the older brother's nose. "At sundown on the first day of your freedom, you will bring me the sword, as promised. If you fail to do so, I will see to it that you regret it for the rest of your life. Got that?"
The older brother nodded. "I would rather die than go back on my word," he said.
"Good," said the strange little man.
Then with a loud crack and a puff of smoke, he disappeared.
~*~*~*~
The brothers were overjoyed by the turn of events, their once-dingy dungeon now shining with the cloth woven by the mysterious little man. They curled up in the corner nearest the door and went to sleep, the younger brother curled up contentedly against his brother's chest.
But when dawn came, the baron coming down to inspect their progress, the brother's earlier thoughts of returning to their father were shattered. The baron was, as they'd expected, thoroughly impressed by the room full of golden cloth, but he was a greedy man, his mind set only on increasing his own ridiculous wealth.
"My, my," he said, patting his huge belly. "To think that your father was telling the truth ... but unfortunately for the pair of you, his debts are far greater than I had originally believed. Therefore, I believe you will need to spend another night, working ... and perhaps you should be in a larger room, one which will hold more hay ... yes ..."
And so the brothers were, once again, dragged away by the rich baron, this time tossed into a room twice as large as the first, where they sat and watched as hay was brought in and piled around the room, twice as deep as it had been, the night before. The baron nodded, pleased as he pulled the door closed.
"Don't forget," he said. "This must all be gold by sunrise, or your father's farm will be mine, and I will turn all of you into servants."
Then he locked the door, his laughter echoing as he walked away.
Time passed. Outside the tiny window of their room, they could see the sky darkening, from blue to steel, steel to slate, then finally, to complete darkness. The younger brother began to cry, comforted by his older brother, who looked to the rafters, praying for the odd little man from the previous night to appear.
He was not disappointed.
At the stroke of midnight, the shadows in the far corner of the room shifted, and then amidst the sound of scraping stone and muffled cursing, the man in the red garment emerged, brushing himself off and scowling.
"Unbelievable," he said. "You've gone and done it again, have you?"
The older brother opened his mouth to inform the strange little man that he and his brother hadn't done anything wrong, but the younger brother beat him to it, pulling away from his older brother with a sob.
"We didn't mean to do anything bad!" he said, his voice cracking. "We're sorry we used your gold, we didn't know he'd want us to do it again!"
The strange little man sighed and knelt down in the floor, offering the now-sobbing younger brother a handkerchief. "I know, I know," he said. "Shh, don't cry, jeez. I'll help you out again, don't worry."
The older brother frowned. "You'll help us," he said, "for a price, though, isn't it?"
"Shouldn't it be?" said the strange little man.
"I wouldn't know," said the older brother.
"Well then let me tell you," said the strange little man, "it should. Equivalent trade, 's not fair otherwise."
The older brother ignored him, patting his younger brother gently on the back. "What's your price?" he said.
"Depends," said the strange little man. "What've you got?"
"A stone," said the older brother.
The strange little man arched an eyebrow at him. "That was quick," he said. "Considering that you told me, just last night, that you had nothing but your integrity and honor."
The older brother glared at him. "We've been in here since sundown," he said. "I thought it might be best to come up with a bargaining chip before you arrived, this time, so that we could do business in a more timely manner."
"I see," said the strange little man, a look of amusement on his face. "So. A stone, you say?"
"Yes," said the older brother. "A very precious stone, the size of ... hmm. A penny-loaf, perhaps, although more angular. It is pure red, in color, and is said to have healing powers, for those who carry it with them."
The strange little man frowned. "That sounds very valuable, to me," he said. "A fair trade, certainly. But it bothers me that you did not offer it during our negotiations last night. I would hate to think you were holding out on me."
The older brother snorted. "Don't insult me with such a statement," he said. "My father's sword is far more valuable, if for no other reason than that it has never failed us. Never been tested, but at least has never failed."
"And this stone," said the strange little man, "has failed before, then?"
The older brother nodded, resting his cheek against his younger brother's hair. "It has been cause of more troubles to us, and to our father, than it has ever been a blessing," he said. "We would be glad to be rid of it."
"You're offering me a cursed stone in exchange for turning all of this straw into gold?" said the strange little man.
"Yes," said the older brother. "That is all we have to offer."
The strange little man grinned, showing teeth. "Well then," he said. "That works for me."
Then without another moment's hesitation, he clapped his hands and knelt, touching his fingertips to the straw closest to his knees. In a blinding burst of light, every last bit of straw changed into strands of pure gold, bright and beautiful in the dim lamplight of the room. The strange little man grinned at the brothers' gasps of delight, clapping his hands once more to turn the gold into neatly stacked bars, arranged neatly around the room.
"There we go," he said, turning to point at the older brother. "Now. At sundown tomorrow night I'll expect to meet you in the lemon orchard, with your father's sword and this red stone of yours. Don't you dare come late or try to sneak off. It won't end well for you, if you do."
The older brother glared at him. "I'll be there," he said. "Don't make me wait for you too long."
~*~*~*~
The following morning, the brothers awoke to the sound of the baron unlocking the door to their dungeon, keys jangling loudly against the thick wood. Rubbing their eyes, they watched as the man stepped into the room, his eyes wide as he took in the gold piled neatly before him.
"Amazing," he said. "Truly amazing."
The older brother stood, one hand resting protectively on his sibling's shoulder. "Are we free to go now, sir?" he said.
The baron turned and looked at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "I'm afraid not," he said with a mockery of a sigh. "I had expected that you would produce golden cloth, as you did the night before. You've done well to provide me with gold block, but I am no fool. I know you've secreted away some of the gold you made, and for your theft you will be punished."
The older brother cried out in outrage. "We've stolen nothing, sir!" he said. "I swear on my honor, we've left every scrap of gold here for you!"
"I'll hear none of your protests," said the baron, raising his hand. "Tonight, I will have the largest room in my home filled with straw. The ballroom, I believe. That will do nicely. You will provide me with both golden cloth and golden bricks such as these, or I shall take over your father's land and see that you and your brother are forever in my service."
Then, with that, he turned and marched out of the room, ordering his guards to imprison the brothers until the straw had been placed in the room, the gold stored in his biggest safe.
By nightfall, the brothers were once again locked in a room, surrounded by mounds of straw towering high above them. Frightened for his brother's safety, the older brother insisted that they climb up on top of the straw, waiting near the rafters for the strange little man's appearance, lest they be buried beneath the straw and suffocate.
"He'll come, don't worry," the older brother told his frightened sibling, glaring across the mountains of straw piled across the room. "He'll definitely come."
Midnight came, signaled by the chiming of the town bell, but the strange little man didn't appear. The younger brother curled up close to his brother and began to cry softly, trembling hard when his brother began to cry as well.
"H-he's not c-coming, is h-he?" he said, when the town bell chimed one. "W-what're we going to d-do?"
"You're going to calm down and stop being so easily frightened," said a muffled voice from the floor. "And you're going to get down here and help me out of this mess."
The brothers looked at each other, wide-eyed, then scrambled down to the floor, digging until they could see the blonde of the strange little man's hair and the crimson of his coat. With a grunt, the older brother hauled the strange little man out of the straw, helping him up to the top of the pile, near the rafters.
"How long have you been down there?" he said, watching the strange little man pick bits of straw out of his hair.
"Long enough," said the strange little man. "Ridiculous, the amount of straw in this room. Greed does such strange things to humans, really it does."
The older brother nodded. "Indeed," he said.
The strange little man glared at him. "I'm assuming you want a trade," he said. "Again. Even though you've yet to uphold your end of either of our previous trades."
"I've not been able to get the things I've promised you," said the older brother. "Things haven't been easy for us, you know."
The strange little man waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I know, I know," he said. "So. Assuming you manage to get out of here, this time, what've you got for me?"
The older brother's shoulders sagged. "We really do have nothing left to promise you," he said, miserably. "I wish that we did, I really do, but we have nothing left. But if you don't help us, our father will lose his farm, and we will lose our freedom."
The strange little man sighed and shook his head. "Fool," he said. "You tell me you have nothing, then cry to me about the future of your father and your brother? I would say you certainly do have treasure. Invaluable treasure, in fact, and standing right beside you, no less."
The older brother bared his teeth, pulling his brother close. "I would never," he growled, "even consider offering my younger brother to anyone, for any reason. And any man who would dare suggest I do such a thing is no better than a beast."
But in the face of his anger, the strange little man did nothing but laugh. "Oh would you calm down," he said. "I was not referring to your brother, fool. I meant family. The family from whom you have learned this honesty and integrity you're always bringing up when we discuss a fair price for my labors."
"But ..." The older brother wrinkled his nose. "My brother and father are the only family I have. Our mother passed into heaven when we were young children."
The strange little man sighed. "So short-sighted," he said. "I speak of your own children. I can have none of my own, and therefore will accept, as payment, a promise that you will allow me to teach your children, once you have sired them, my magic. Have someone to carry on that which I was taught when I was a child, if you will."
The older brother blinked at him. "I'm fifteen years old," he said. "I don't have any children."
"You might, someday," said the strange little man.
The older brother blushed. "Um," he said. "Well ... maybe. But ... what if I don't have children? I don't especially like g-I mean, uh ... well right now, I don't, anyway."
The strange little man's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh I see. Yes, that might be a problem. Hmm ..."
"I could promise you my children," said the younger brother, quietly, looking up innocently at the strange little man. "I'm younger than my brother, so it will be longer than it would be for him, but if you'd like ..."
The strange little man smiled and patted the younger brother on the head. "You're very kind," he said. "But no, I don't think that will be necessary. I've another idea, one that's better."
The older brother perked up. "Do tell," he said.
The strange little man cleared his throat. "In exchange for spinning all of this straw into gold," he said, "you must give me one year's time out of your whole long life." Then, at the frightened look on the younger brother's face, he amended: "Only the elder brother, that is. And only one year ... it seems quite a fair trade, does it not?"
"One year of doing what?" said the older brother. "I should think that would determine whether the trade is or is not fair."
"Mostly a baggage-carrier," said the strange little man, scratching his chin. "And from time-to-time, personal masseuse. I have a bad leg, you see, makes my back rather stiff when I've been out and about, walking too much."
The older brother frowned. "So you're saying," he said, "that if I carry your bag and rub your back for one year, you'll turn all of this straw into pure gold?"
The strange little man nodded. "That's the deal," he said.
The older brother swallowed hard. "One year of my life, paid in your debt," he said, "and you'll turn all of the straw in this room into gold? Half of it spun into fabric, half of it formed into bricks, as per the baron's orders?"
"Yes," said the strange little man.
"All right, then," said the older brother, holding out his hand. "A deal."
The strange little man took his hand and shook it, hard.
"Done," he said.
With a clap of his hands and a brilliant flash of light, he set to work, systematically transforming each mound of straw in the room into gold. The brothers watched in silence, perched atop the furthest pile of straw, out of the way.
Halfway through, the strange little man stopped. "You know," he said, "I don't think the floor in this room can support the weight of gold brick. It would be better to have more fabric. Safer, anyway."
The older brother shook his head. "The baron was very specific," he said. "Half fabric, half brick. He'll not let us go if it's not what he ordered."
"Idiot," said the strange little man. "Fine, then. But I won't risk you dying or getting injured, you're to be my payment for all this, so climb up into the rafters with your brother and wait there. That way, at least, if the floor gives way, you'll be safe."
The older brother glared at him, but did as he was told. The younger brother called down his thanks for the strange little man's concern, earning a derisive snort from the strange little man and a look of reproach from his brother.
"But Brother," he said, "he is looking out for us."
"Hush and hold on tightly to the rafters. I don't want you falling down," said the older brother.
Dawn was creeping pink across the sky before the strange little man had finished his work, the floor groaning under the weight of the gold now arranged across it, heavy bricks and neat-folded gold silk. With a yawn, the strange little man swung himself up into the rafters, settling beside the older brother with a groan.
"At sundown on the first day of your freedom," he said, "you will come to me and carry my bag."
The older brother nodded. "I understand," he said.
"Good," said the strange little man. "I may also perhaps want for you to rub my back, as well. All this straw-to-gold has got my muscles very tense."
"Hmph," said the older brother, reaching out to test the tension in the strange little man's shoulders. "Yes, I can see that. Be still, let me-"
At the sound of the ballroom door opening, he quieted, sitting tense between his brother and the strange little man. From their perch on the rafters, they could see the top of the baron's head, his fat hands outstretched greedily towards the gold piled all around him.
"Amazing!" he said. "Truly amazing! At this rate, I'll be the richest man in the land by week's end! Guard, bring those children to me ... I've decided, they'll be staying in my service forever. To let them go would be utterly foolish!"
The younger brother began to tremble, at that, but his brother held him close, the strange little man motioning for both of them to remain silent. He pointed to the rich baron, then to the floor, and shook his head, moving his hands as if they were floorboards breaking.
"He's too fat to be doing that," he whispered. "I told you the gold was heavy, with his added weight, the floor's going to-"
But before he could finish his sentence, a loud crack echoed around the room, the rich baron's cry of surprise swallowed by the sound of wood splintering and gold bars shifting, the entire floor giving way under his feet. In a mess of dust and wood and gold, he disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a gaping hole in the floor and silence where his greedy proclamations had once been.
Safe in the rafters, the brothers and strange little man stared, the younger brother bursting into tears once the dust had settled. His older brother comforted him, glaring at the strange little man over his younger brother's head.
"You did that on purpose," he said.
"Did not," said the strange little man.
"Did too," said the older brother.
"Did not," said the strange little man. "And even if I did, what's it to you? He's gone now, isn't he? You're free to go because of it."
The older brother frowned, but nodded. "That's true," he said. "Thanks, I guess."
The strange little man rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "Meet me in the orchard at sundown, and bring what you owe me. I'll be waiting."
Then, with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the brothers to figure out how to get down from the rafters on their own.
~*~*~*~
That evening, as promised, the older brother made his way into the lemon orchard, carrying his father's sword, the magic red stone, and a bag packed with a few items of clothing and a handful of notebooks. He stood beneath the big lemon tree at the east corner of the orchard, waiting, a frown on his face when the strange little man appeared in a puff of smoke.
"You're late," he said.
"Am not," said the strange little man. "You're early."
The older brother rolled his eyes. "Here, I brought the sword and the stone."
"Oh, very good," said the strange little man, holding out his hands. "Let me see them."
He took the proffered treasures and began inspecting them, squinting at the stone as he held it up to the dying light of the sunset and giving the sword a few experimental swipes, nodding at the sound it made. The older brother watched him in silence, arms crossed over his chest.
"The trade is fair," the strange little man, finally. "Now. Let me see you. Hold out your hands."
The older brother did as he was told, frowning when the strange little man began inspecting his palms. "I've not yet heard your name," he said. "Nor you mine."
"Mmm," said the strange little man. "That's true enough. You have good hands, I think you'll do well as my assistant. And regarding my name ... I'll make you a deal. If you can guess my name at any time during the year, I'll forfeit the time remaining on your contract. How's that sound?"
The older brother cocked his head. "Really?" he said.
The strange little man shrugged. "Sure," he said. "I'm feeling generous."
"Well then," said the older brother. "I know your name. It's no different from my own."
Then he leaned down and whispered his own name in the strange little man's ear, laughing when the strange little man began hopping up and down, infuriated.
"How did you know that?" he wanted to know. "How? How?"
The older brother shrugged. "Perhaps over the next year you'll find out," he said. "Now, come with me to the house, my father has prepared supper and is expecting us."
Grumbling, the strange little man followed him inside, his mood improving dramatically at the smell of stew cooking and bread baking, the warmth of the fire in the hearth as they settled down to dinner, the farmer and his sons and the strange little man.
And like that, they lived happily ever after, not a single one of them ever again touching a strand of gold or a piece of straw, all the long days of their lives.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Silence greets the end of John's story, Fletcher and Alphonse both flushed pink from snickering throughout the telling of the tale, their older brothers flushed pink beside them, though not from laughter. Nash chuckles and sips his wine, leaning heavily against his lover's side.
"Well," he says. "That was quite a story."
Fletcher laughs. Alphonse nods in agreement.
Edward glares at them, then at John. "What the hell's the deal with calling me 'little' and 'strange?'" he wants to know. "And I'm not some fucking forest gnome, I'm a State Alchemist!"
"Brother, watch your language," says Al. "It was just a story, not meant to be taken literally. I wasn't even in it, so you know it's not supposed to be real."
"Yeah, and you've never been there to save Fletcher's and my asses, Ed," says Russel. "I'd say that's more of an inconsistency than you being little and strange. That jives pretty well, actually."
Edward snarls, hands curling into fists. "I'm gonna beat your ass right here and now," he says. "In front of your family, this time."
Russel snorts and ruffles Edward's hair condescendingly. "Go ahead and try," he says.
The scuffle that follows is quite convincingly a wrestling match, so far as Nash can tell. He sits beside his lover and watches passively, unconcerned for his son so long as he and Edward stay a safe distance from the fire, their flailing limbs a safe distance from the chair Fletcher and Al sit in, watching them fight.
His son is a grown man, after all. Nash trusts him to take care of himself.
~*~
Art by goldphish_bowl ♥
A/N: When I saw the sketch of this one ... yeah. I came. XD
The two came together, and this is what I got. It's longer than most of my 20_inkspots stories, but I think it's good that way. Have a read and let me know what you think?
Our contributions for 20_inkspots, in chronological order:
1895: "Holding Back" (#2)
1906: "Dawn for a Dying Man" (#16)
1910: "In the Heat of the Moment" (#1)
1910: "The Pain of Holding On" (#19)
1910: "A Breath of Fresh Air" (#5)
1913: "Strays, part 1" (#3)
1913: "Strays, part 2" (#17)
1913: "Strays, part 3" (#12)
1914: "Everyone Together, All Alone" (#10)
1914: "Sins of the Father" (#14)
1915: "Ask" (#20)
1915: "Keeping Secrets" (#6)
1915: "The Father I Never Was" (#9)
1915: "Timeless" (#18)
1915: "Balance" (#11)
1917: "A Father's Pride and Joy" (#15)
1918: "The Unexpected Gift of Fatherhood (#7)
1918: "Adjustment" (#4)
1918: "Gold of the Earth" (#8)
Will be updated as more stories are added. ^_^
Gold of the Earth
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Russel Tringham is growing up. Grown up, even, in many ways.
His voice no longer cracks when he raises it, fighting with his younger brother. He wears the same size shoes as his foster-father. He has to shave every morning, his chin bristly with stubble by midday if he doesn't.
Nash recognizes all of these facts. He's proud of his boy, proud of the man Russel has become.
But still. There are limits to his patience.
Therefore, when his son disappears into the back bedroom with Edward Elric, two nights after it has come to Nash's attention that his son is more than friends with the Elric boy, Nash follows them, knocking on the bedroom door when he finds it closed and locked.
"Your father," he says, when Russel calls out, wanting to know who's there. "I'd like a word with you, please."
There's muffled cursing and shuffling and clanking that sounds suspiciously like a belt-buckle, after that, Russel's shirt buttoned up wrong and Edward's hair messy when they do finally open the door. Russel blushes and mumbles an excuse about wrestling, while Edward stands behind him, glaring.
Nash raises an eyebrow at them. "Wrestling?" he says.
"Um, yeah," says Russel. "Wrestling. Why? What did you need to talk to me about?"
He looks miserable. Embarrassed and uncomfortable and probably a little angry, Nash supposes, maybe even a bit frustrated. Caught in the middle of doing what comes naturally to any man his age, when he's taken the care-Nash has to give him some credit-to be as discreet as he can.
But still. There are limits to what he can turn a blind eye towards. Edward's hand on Russel's thigh, all through dinner, is one of them. The lovebite darkening just above the collar of Edward's shirt, one which appeared mysteriously sometime during the day, is another.
Sneaking off to fondle each other in a room so close to the sitting room where their younger brothers sit, playing chess, however ...
"I thought perhaps you'd like to join us in the sitting room," Nash says. "It's a bit drafty back here, so far from the fire and all."
Edward's sweaty, and Russel seems hot and bothered. Nash tries not to think about it.
He motions towards the light of the sitting room. "Shall we?"
His son nods without speaking, reaching back to lace his fingers with Edward's as he follows Nash down the hall. They sit together on the floor near the fire, tense and silent, looking grumpy as they watch Fletcher lose at chess.
The silence is nearly suffocating.
"What a dreary night," Nash says, finally, looking out the window at the rain splattering wetly against the glass as he leans forward to pick up the glass of wine he'd abandoned in favor of interrupting his son's wrestling match with Edward, before. "Someone should tell a story. Used to do that on nights like this when I was a boy, sit around the fire and tell stories."
Russel and Edward ignore him. John nods solemnly.
"Your father told very tall tales, if memory serves," he says, quietly.
Nash laughs. "He did, but they were always entertaining, at least," he says. "Wish I'd written some of them down. They were fun."
Fletcher rises and stretches, settling into one of the armchairs beside the sofa. "You should tell one, Dad," he says.
"You're just saying that 'cause you're tired of me beating you at chess," says Al, rising as well to curl up with Fletcher in the chair.
Fletcher giggles and snuggles close to his friend. "Meh, I let you win," he says.
Al snorts. "You're just as bad as my brother," he says, nudging Edward's shoulder with his toes, which earns him a glare in return.
"So," says Nash. "A story. What kind of story do you want?"
"Something scary," says Fletcher.
"Something not scary," says Al. "Fletcher'll have nightmares."
Russel chuckles. Fletcher pouts. "Will not," he says.
"Will too," says Al.
"Will not," says Fletcher. He looks at his father imploringly. "I won't, really."
Nash nods, trying not to laugh. "I don't know any scary stories anyway. Sorry," he says. He looks to his lover, resting his hand on the man's knee. "Do you, John?"
John shakes his head. "None that bear repeating, no."
"Would you tell us one of your stories?" says Fletcher. "I want Al to hear one of your stories."
John blinks at him. "I think perhaps Nash could better-"
"Nonsense," says Nash. "C'mon John. Tell us a story."
John clears his throat, looking from his lover to Fletcher and back again. "Well then," he says. "If you want me to."
"Yeah!" says Fletcher, bouncing up and down a little.
John colors up a bit, then clears his throat again. "Very well."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Once upon a time, in a land far away, in a very small town, there lived a very poor farmer who had two sons. He was a good man, well-liked and well-known for his habit of telling fantastic tall tales, tales which grew taller when fed good strong liquor.
No one believed his stories, but they were fun to listen to, so everyone encouraged him to tell them whenever possible.
After some time, a rich baron moved into the town and built himself a mansion on the hill. Because he was very rich, he avoided mingling with the townspeople, which secretly pleased the people to no end. He wanted nothing to do with them, and they wanted nothing to do with him.
Which worked out, well enough, until the evening of the Fire Festival, when the poor farmer became inebriated and, under the encouragement of his fellow townspeople, stood up to tell one of his fantastic tall tales.
"Have I ever told you," he called out across the eager crowd, "of my eldest son's great talent?"
Upon the answering calls of "no!" and "tell us!" the farmer grinned widely and cleared his throat, holding up his hands for silence.
"My son," he said, "can turn ordinary straw, into gold."
The people cheered loudly. As far as the farmer's tall tales went, this was one of the most outlandish. Straw into gold ... and from a boy who'd never done more than turn peanut butter and bread into a sandwich for his younger brother!
(Which, one might argue, was better than turning straw into gold any day.)
"Tell us more!" cried the crowd.
The farmer beamed. "Indeed," he said. "My son could turn an entire store-room of straw into threads of gold, the finest gold in the world. Gold so pure, you could weave it into a gown worthy of the queen herself!"
Now at this point, the farmer would normally elaborate, working his newest tale into an old fairytale, the characters and plot falling into jumbled confusion before the end of the story, which didn't give the listener any sense of closure, but was really quite entertaining to watch.
On that night, however, the farmer did not have a chance to muddle through the rest of his story. He was interrupted by the booming voice of the baron, whom no one had ever seen before, and therefore had not recognized, mixed in with the others in the crowd.
"Such fantastic things you say your son can do," said the baron. "I should very much like to see these feats accomplished, myself."
The farmer, who had never much liked the baron to begin with, narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?" he said. "Well that's too bad, my son's gold is far too great for a lowly man like you."
The baron grinned. "Is that so?" he said, in mockery of the farmer. "I think your son will come with me, sir, as you are far behind in your taxes and have no choice, really. Perhaps, if he spins enough gold both to pay your taxes and to pay for the hay I will be supplying him, then you may have him back and keep your miserable little farm. How does that sound, hmm?"
At this point, the farmer-drunken and frightened-became enraged and launched himself at the baron, but he was restrained by an old friend, who knew better than to drink in public.
"You can't take my son!" cried the farmer, struggling as his elder son was led away by the rich baron. "Please ... if not for my sake, think of the boy's younger brother! Siblings ought not be separated!"
The baron turned, grinning still. "Is that so?" he said. "Then perhaps we'll take your other son, as well."
Then, laughing over the sound of the farmer's anguished cries, he departed, dragging both of the boys along behind him.
~*~*~*~
In the baron's mansion, up in the highest tower, the farmer's sons sat, huddled together amidst heaps of hay, the younger son trembling hard enough that his teeth chattered.
"Brother," he said, "what are we going to do? Father was just telling a tale, you can't really make hay into gold. Can you?"
His brother shook his head. "No," he said, "I can't. No man can."
"Oh?" said a voice from the rafters, frightening the brothers so badly that they jumped. "Are you quite sure of that?"
The brothers looked up into the high rafters of their room, eyes widening at the sight that greeted them. Perched among the cobwebs and shadows was a man, easily as old as the elder brother, yet no larger than the younger. His hair and eyes were as brilliant as the gold the brothers had been charged with creating, and he was wrapped head-to-toe in a garment of deep scarlet, his hands clothed in gloves as white as spring clouds. With a grin and a wink, he leapt down from the rafters, down-down-down into the hay heaped up all around, cursing as he waded across the floor to the spot cleared around the brothers, his boots loud against the flagstone floor.
"I bid you greetings, unfortunate sons of the foolish farmer," said the strange little man, bowing low, the effect only partly ruined by the hay yet clinging to his robes. "I have come to offer you my services, as I believe I may be able to help you out of your predicament. For an equivalent and fair exchange, of course."
The older brother put his arm around his sibling, drawing the boy protectively close. "Services?" he said. "You don't mean to suggest that you are able to turn all of this straw-" he motioned around the room with a sweep of his free hand "-into gold?"
The strange little man's grin widened. "Indeed, I do suggest such a feat," he said. "But in exchange, you must give me something. Tell me, do you have anything of value?"
The older brother sighed. "Nothing," he said. "My father is a poor man. We have nothing but our integrity. Nothing but our honesty and strength of will."
"Ah, I see," said the strange little man. "Well. I can't very well give you a room of gold in exchange for nothing, can I?"
"We're not asking you for a room of gold in exchange for nothing," said the older brother. "I'm just saying ... we have nothing."
"You're absolutely certain?" said the strange little man.
The older brother nodded. "I'm certain," he said.
But before the strange little man could turn and leave them alone, trapped amidst the heaps of hay, the younger brother spoke up, his voice shaking a little.
"Wait," he said. "We don't ... we don't have it with us, but our father's father had a sword. One which our father gave to my brother as a family heirloom when Brother turned fifteen. We can't give it to you right now, but we can promise-on our honor and integrity-that we'll give it to you, once we're freed."
The strange little man arched an eyebrow at him. "A sword, eh?" he said. "Is it a good sword?"
The younger brother blushed and shook his head. "No," he said. "In fact, I don't think a duel has been ever fought under its use. But it is rather pretty, and because it's not very useful, it's in good condition."
"I see," said the strange little man. He stroked his chin and looked around, then smiled down at the younger brother. "Well. I happen to know a powerful witch who has a 'thing' for metal objects. I suppose this sword of yours would suffice as a birthday gift for her. Even better that it's not very good, it won't hurt so badly if she hits me with it, that way."
"You get beat up by a witch?" said the older brother, wide-eyed.
"She's no ordinary witch," said the strange little man, with a shudder. "So. You'll trade me your sword in exchange for turning all of this hay into gold?"
The older brother nodded. "On my family's honor, we will uphold our end of the agreement," he said.
"Done," said the strange little man.
Then with a clap of his hands and a burst of light, he knelt to the ground and turned every last piece of straw into gold. At the brothers' look of awe, he grinned and clapped his hands, once again, weaving the newly-made gold into yards and yards of fine gold silk, more beautiful even than the new day's sunlight shining across a field of grain.
"I will wait for you in the lemon orchard," he said, pointing one gloved finger at the older brother's nose. "At sundown on the first day of your freedom, you will bring me the sword, as promised. If you fail to do so, I will see to it that you regret it for the rest of your life. Got that?"
The older brother nodded. "I would rather die than go back on my word," he said.
"Good," said the strange little man.
Then with a loud crack and a puff of smoke, he disappeared.
~*~*~*~
The brothers were overjoyed by the turn of events, their once-dingy dungeon now shining with the cloth woven by the mysterious little man. They curled up in the corner nearest the door and went to sleep, the younger brother curled up contentedly against his brother's chest.
But when dawn came, the baron coming down to inspect their progress, the brother's earlier thoughts of returning to their father were shattered. The baron was, as they'd expected, thoroughly impressed by the room full of golden cloth, but he was a greedy man, his mind set only on increasing his own ridiculous wealth.
"My, my," he said, patting his huge belly. "To think that your father was telling the truth ... but unfortunately for the pair of you, his debts are far greater than I had originally believed. Therefore, I believe you will need to spend another night, working ... and perhaps you should be in a larger room, one which will hold more hay ... yes ..."
And so the brothers were, once again, dragged away by the rich baron, this time tossed into a room twice as large as the first, where they sat and watched as hay was brought in and piled around the room, twice as deep as it had been, the night before. The baron nodded, pleased as he pulled the door closed.
"Don't forget," he said. "This must all be gold by sunrise, or your father's farm will be mine, and I will turn all of you into servants."
Then he locked the door, his laughter echoing as he walked away.
Time passed. Outside the tiny window of their room, they could see the sky darkening, from blue to steel, steel to slate, then finally, to complete darkness. The younger brother began to cry, comforted by his older brother, who looked to the rafters, praying for the odd little man from the previous night to appear.
He was not disappointed.
At the stroke of midnight, the shadows in the far corner of the room shifted, and then amidst the sound of scraping stone and muffled cursing, the man in the red garment emerged, brushing himself off and scowling.
"Unbelievable," he said. "You've gone and done it again, have you?"
The older brother opened his mouth to inform the strange little man that he and his brother hadn't done anything wrong, but the younger brother beat him to it, pulling away from his older brother with a sob.
"We didn't mean to do anything bad!" he said, his voice cracking. "We're sorry we used your gold, we didn't know he'd want us to do it again!"
The strange little man sighed and knelt down in the floor, offering the now-sobbing younger brother a handkerchief. "I know, I know," he said. "Shh, don't cry, jeez. I'll help you out again, don't worry."
The older brother frowned. "You'll help us," he said, "for a price, though, isn't it?"
"Shouldn't it be?" said the strange little man.
"I wouldn't know," said the older brother.
"Well then let me tell you," said the strange little man, "it should. Equivalent trade, 's not fair otherwise."
The older brother ignored him, patting his younger brother gently on the back. "What's your price?" he said.
"Depends," said the strange little man. "What've you got?"
"A stone," said the older brother.
The strange little man arched an eyebrow at him. "That was quick," he said. "Considering that you told me, just last night, that you had nothing but your integrity and honor."
The older brother glared at him. "We've been in here since sundown," he said. "I thought it might be best to come up with a bargaining chip before you arrived, this time, so that we could do business in a more timely manner."
"I see," said the strange little man, a look of amusement on his face. "So. A stone, you say?"
"Yes," said the older brother. "A very precious stone, the size of ... hmm. A penny-loaf, perhaps, although more angular. It is pure red, in color, and is said to have healing powers, for those who carry it with them."
The strange little man frowned. "That sounds very valuable, to me," he said. "A fair trade, certainly. But it bothers me that you did not offer it during our negotiations last night. I would hate to think you were holding out on me."
The older brother snorted. "Don't insult me with such a statement," he said. "My father's sword is far more valuable, if for no other reason than that it has never failed us. Never been tested, but at least has never failed."
"And this stone," said the strange little man, "has failed before, then?"
The older brother nodded, resting his cheek against his younger brother's hair. "It has been cause of more troubles to us, and to our father, than it has ever been a blessing," he said. "We would be glad to be rid of it."
"You're offering me a cursed stone in exchange for turning all of this straw into gold?" said the strange little man.
"Yes," said the older brother. "That is all we have to offer."
The strange little man grinned, showing teeth. "Well then," he said. "That works for me."
Then without another moment's hesitation, he clapped his hands and knelt, touching his fingertips to the straw closest to his knees. In a blinding burst of light, every last bit of straw changed into strands of pure gold, bright and beautiful in the dim lamplight of the room. The strange little man grinned at the brothers' gasps of delight, clapping his hands once more to turn the gold into neatly stacked bars, arranged neatly around the room.
"There we go," he said, turning to point at the older brother. "Now. At sundown tomorrow night I'll expect to meet you in the lemon orchard, with your father's sword and this red stone of yours. Don't you dare come late or try to sneak off. It won't end well for you, if you do."
The older brother glared at him. "I'll be there," he said. "Don't make me wait for you too long."
~*~*~*~
The following morning, the brothers awoke to the sound of the baron unlocking the door to their dungeon, keys jangling loudly against the thick wood. Rubbing their eyes, they watched as the man stepped into the room, his eyes wide as he took in the gold piled neatly before him.
"Amazing," he said. "Truly amazing."
The older brother stood, one hand resting protectively on his sibling's shoulder. "Are we free to go now, sir?" he said.
The baron turned and looked at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "I'm afraid not," he said with a mockery of a sigh. "I had expected that you would produce golden cloth, as you did the night before. You've done well to provide me with gold block, but I am no fool. I know you've secreted away some of the gold you made, and for your theft you will be punished."
The older brother cried out in outrage. "We've stolen nothing, sir!" he said. "I swear on my honor, we've left every scrap of gold here for you!"
"I'll hear none of your protests," said the baron, raising his hand. "Tonight, I will have the largest room in my home filled with straw. The ballroom, I believe. That will do nicely. You will provide me with both golden cloth and golden bricks such as these, or I shall take over your father's land and see that you and your brother are forever in my service."
Then, with that, he turned and marched out of the room, ordering his guards to imprison the brothers until the straw had been placed in the room, the gold stored in his biggest safe.
By nightfall, the brothers were once again locked in a room, surrounded by mounds of straw towering high above them. Frightened for his brother's safety, the older brother insisted that they climb up on top of the straw, waiting near the rafters for the strange little man's appearance, lest they be buried beneath the straw and suffocate.
"He'll come, don't worry," the older brother told his frightened sibling, glaring across the mountains of straw piled across the room. "He'll definitely come."
Midnight came, signaled by the chiming of the town bell, but the strange little man didn't appear. The younger brother curled up close to his brother and began to cry softly, trembling hard when his brother began to cry as well.
"H-he's not c-coming, is h-he?" he said, when the town bell chimed one. "W-what're we going to d-do?"
"You're going to calm down and stop being so easily frightened," said a muffled voice from the floor. "And you're going to get down here and help me out of this mess."
The brothers looked at each other, wide-eyed, then scrambled down to the floor, digging until they could see the blonde of the strange little man's hair and the crimson of his coat. With a grunt, the older brother hauled the strange little man out of the straw, helping him up to the top of the pile, near the rafters.
"How long have you been down there?" he said, watching the strange little man pick bits of straw out of his hair.
"Long enough," said the strange little man. "Ridiculous, the amount of straw in this room. Greed does such strange things to humans, really it does."
The older brother nodded. "Indeed," he said.
The strange little man glared at him. "I'm assuming you want a trade," he said. "Again. Even though you've yet to uphold your end of either of our previous trades."
"I've not been able to get the things I've promised you," said the older brother. "Things haven't been easy for us, you know."
The strange little man waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I know, I know," he said. "So. Assuming you manage to get out of here, this time, what've you got for me?"
The older brother's shoulders sagged. "We really do have nothing left to promise you," he said, miserably. "I wish that we did, I really do, but we have nothing left. But if you don't help us, our father will lose his farm, and we will lose our freedom."
The strange little man sighed and shook his head. "Fool," he said. "You tell me you have nothing, then cry to me about the future of your father and your brother? I would say you certainly do have treasure. Invaluable treasure, in fact, and standing right beside you, no less."
The older brother bared his teeth, pulling his brother close. "I would never," he growled, "even consider offering my younger brother to anyone, for any reason. And any man who would dare suggest I do such a thing is no better than a beast."
But in the face of his anger, the strange little man did nothing but laugh. "Oh would you calm down," he said. "I was not referring to your brother, fool. I meant family. The family from whom you have learned this honesty and integrity you're always bringing up when we discuss a fair price for my labors."
"But ..." The older brother wrinkled his nose. "My brother and father are the only family I have. Our mother passed into heaven when we were young children."
The strange little man sighed. "So short-sighted," he said. "I speak of your own children. I can have none of my own, and therefore will accept, as payment, a promise that you will allow me to teach your children, once you have sired them, my magic. Have someone to carry on that which I was taught when I was a child, if you will."
The older brother blinked at him. "I'm fifteen years old," he said. "I don't have any children."
"You might, someday," said the strange little man.
The older brother blushed. "Um," he said. "Well ... maybe. But ... what if I don't have children? I don't especially like g-I mean, uh ... well right now, I don't, anyway."
The strange little man's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh I see. Yes, that might be a problem. Hmm ..."
"I could promise you my children," said the younger brother, quietly, looking up innocently at the strange little man. "I'm younger than my brother, so it will be longer than it would be for him, but if you'd like ..."
The strange little man smiled and patted the younger brother on the head. "You're very kind," he said. "But no, I don't think that will be necessary. I've another idea, one that's better."
The older brother perked up. "Do tell," he said.
The strange little man cleared his throat. "In exchange for spinning all of this straw into gold," he said, "you must give me one year's time out of your whole long life." Then, at the frightened look on the younger brother's face, he amended: "Only the elder brother, that is. And only one year ... it seems quite a fair trade, does it not?"
"One year of doing what?" said the older brother. "I should think that would determine whether the trade is or is not fair."
"Mostly a baggage-carrier," said the strange little man, scratching his chin. "And from time-to-time, personal masseuse. I have a bad leg, you see, makes my back rather stiff when I've been out and about, walking too much."
The older brother frowned. "So you're saying," he said, "that if I carry your bag and rub your back for one year, you'll turn all of this straw into pure gold?"
The strange little man nodded. "That's the deal," he said.
The older brother swallowed hard. "One year of my life, paid in your debt," he said, "and you'll turn all of the straw in this room into gold? Half of it spun into fabric, half of it formed into bricks, as per the baron's orders?"
"Yes," said the strange little man.
"All right, then," said the older brother, holding out his hand. "A deal."
The strange little man took his hand and shook it, hard.
"Done," he said.
With a clap of his hands and a brilliant flash of light, he set to work, systematically transforming each mound of straw in the room into gold. The brothers watched in silence, perched atop the furthest pile of straw, out of the way.
Halfway through, the strange little man stopped. "You know," he said, "I don't think the floor in this room can support the weight of gold brick. It would be better to have more fabric. Safer, anyway."
The older brother shook his head. "The baron was very specific," he said. "Half fabric, half brick. He'll not let us go if it's not what he ordered."
"Idiot," said the strange little man. "Fine, then. But I won't risk you dying or getting injured, you're to be my payment for all this, so climb up into the rafters with your brother and wait there. That way, at least, if the floor gives way, you'll be safe."
The older brother glared at him, but did as he was told. The younger brother called down his thanks for the strange little man's concern, earning a derisive snort from the strange little man and a look of reproach from his brother.
"But Brother," he said, "he is looking out for us."
"Hush and hold on tightly to the rafters. I don't want you falling down," said the older brother.
Dawn was creeping pink across the sky before the strange little man had finished his work, the floor groaning under the weight of the gold now arranged across it, heavy bricks and neat-folded gold silk. With a yawn, the strange little man swung himself up into the rafters, settling beside the older brother with a groan.
"At sundown on the first day of your freedom," he said, "you will come to me and carry my bag."
The older brother nodded. "I understand," he said.
"Good," said the strange little man. "I may also perhaps want for you to rub my back, as well. All this straw-to-gold has got my muscles very tense."
"Hmph," said the older brother, reaching out to test the tension in the strange little man's shoulders. "Yes, I can see that. Be still, let me-"
At the sound of the ballroom door opening, he quieted, sitting tense between his brother and the strange little man. From their perch on the rafters, they could see the top of the baron's head, his fat hands outstretched greedily towards the gold piled all around him.
"Amazing!" he said. "Truly amazing! At this rate, I'll be the richest man in the land by week's end! Guard, bring those children to me ... I've decided, they'll be staying in my service forever. To let them go would be utterly foolish!"
The younger brother began to tremble, at that, but his brother held him close, the strange little man motioning for both of them to remain silent. He pointed to the rich baron, then to the floor, and shook his head, moving his hands as if they were floorboards breaking.
"He's too fat to be doing that," he whispered. "I told you the gold was heavy, with his added weight, the floor's going to-"
But before he could finish his sentence, a loud crack echoed around the room, the rich baron's cry of surprise swallowed by the sound of wood splintering and gold bars shifting, the entire floor giving way under his feet. In a mess of dust and wood and gold, he disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a gaping hole in the floor and silence where his greedy proclamations had once been.
Safe in the rafters, the brothers and strange little man stared, the younger brother bursting into tears once the dust had settled. His older brother comforted him, glaring at the strange little man over his younger brother's head.
"You did that on purpose," he said.
"Did not," said the strange little man.
"Did too," said the older brother.
"Did not," said the strange little man. "And even if I did, what's it to you? He's gone now, isn't he? You're free to go because of it."
The older brother frowned, but nodded. "That's true," he said. "Thanks, I guess."
The strange little man rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "Meet me in the orchard at sundown, and bring what you owe me. I'll be waiting."
Then, with that, he disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the brothers to figure out how to get down from the rafters on their own.
~*~*~*~
That evening, as promised, the older brother made his way into the lemon orchard, carrying his father's sword, the magic red stone, and a bag packed with a few items of clothing and a handful of notebooks. He stood beneath the big lemon tree at the east corner of the orchard, waiting, a frown on his face when the strange little man appeared in a puff of smoke.
"You're late," he said.
"Am not," said the strange little man. "You're early."
The older brother rolled his eyes. "Here, I brought the sword and the stone."
"Oh, very good," said the strange little man, holding out his hands. "Let me see them."
He took the proffered treasures and began inspecting them, squinting at the stone as he held it up to the dying light of the sunset and giving the sword a few experimental swipes, nodding at the sound it made. The older brother watched him in silence, arms crossed over his chest.
"The trade is fair," the strange little man, finally. "Now. Let me see you. Hold out your hands."
The older brother did as he was told, frowning when the strange little man began inspecting his palms. "I've not yet heard your name," he said. "Nor you mine."
"Mmm," said the strange little man. "That's true enough. You have good hands, I think you'll do well as my assistant. And regarding my name ... I'll make you a deal. If you can guess my name at any time during the year, I'll forfeit the time remaining on your contract. How's that sound?"
The older brother cocked his head. "Really?" he said.
The strange little man shrugged. "Sure," he said. "I'm feeling generous."
"Well then," said the older brother. "I know your name. It's no different from my own."
Then he leaned down and whispered his own name in the strange little man's ear, laughing when the strange little man began hopping up and down, infuriated.
"How did you know that?" he wanted to know. "How? How?"
The older brother shrugged. "Perhaps over the next year you'll find out," he said. "Now, come with me to the house, my father has prepared supper and is expecting us."
Grumbling, the strange little man followed him inside, his mood improving dramatically at the smell of stew cooking and bread baking, the warmth of the fire in the hearth as they settled down to dinner, the farmer and his sons and the strange little man.
And like that, they lived happily ever after, not a single one of them ever again touching a strand of gold or a piece of straw, all the long days of their lives.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Silence greets the end of John's story, Fletcher and Alphonse both flushed pink from snickering throughout the telling of the tale, their older brothers flushed pink beside them, though not from laughter. Nash chuckles and sips his wine, leaning heavily against his lover's side.
"Well," he says. "That was quite a story."
Fletcher laughs. Alphonse nods in agreement.
Edward glares at them, then at John. "What the hell's the deal with calling me 'little' and 'strange?'" he wants to know. "And I'm not some fucking forest gnome, I'm a State Alchemist!"
"Brother, watch your language," says Al. "It was just a story, not meant to be taken literally. I wasn't even in it, so you know it's not supposed to be real."
"Yeah, and you've never been there to save Fletcher's and my asses, Ed," says Russel. "I'd say that's more of an inconsistency than you being little and strange. That jives pretty well, actually."
Edward snarls, hands curling into fists. "I'm gonna beat your ass right here and now," he says. "In front of your family, this time."
Russel snorts and ruffles Edward's hair condescendingly. "Go ahead and try," he says.
The scuffle that follows is quite convincingly a wrestling match, so far as Nash can tell. He sits beside his lover and watches passively, unconcerned for his son so long as he and Edward stay a safe distance from the fire, their flailing limbs a safe distance from the chair Fletcher and Al sit in, watching them fight.
His son is a grown man, after all. Nash trusts him to take care of himself.
~*~
Art by goldphish_bowl ♥
A/N: When I saw the sketch of this one ... yeah. I came. XD