Prince Marth Lowell of Altea stood proudly as his army marched towards the enemy. His calm look of bravery only inspiring the troops he led into battle even more. Every part of him was a living legend among his men; his sword which has been used to slay dragons before, time and again. His hair, flowing with the slight breeze that signaled a storm coming, which was the fantasy of women all across the continent. His tiara, which was the cause of great ridicule, and the symbol of great pain…
Yes, he was quite a hero where he came from, but this wasn't where he came from. This was another castle, in another city, in another country; Hyrule.
He was standing on the ruins of a once-prominent tower in the midst of destruction as far as the eye can see, about to lead a charge against an army the likes of which were only mentioned in fairytales. For in Altea, dark warlords led armies of men, not monsters, but that's exactly what he was about to face.
A massive army of orc-like creatures was sprawled out before him, making crude noises and drawing their weapons, preparing for battle. Each creature was the size of a man and carried a large grotesque sword or spear, some on boars and some on foot. The leading officer however was riding a horse he had apparently captured in the raid of the city. A red horse. Needless to say, this only angered Marth even more.
Drawing his sword, he shouted, signaling his men to begin the assault, and behind him, his army shouted also. Each drawing their respective weapons, and shouting their own battle cry, the Altean's army advanced.
Dashing forward with a speed that was usually reserved for cavalry, Marth ripped through the opposing army as if empowered by his anger. Swinging and hacking with his ancestor's sword until no beast stood anywhere relatively near him relieved some of his rage, but not all of it. So he began to work again, clearing his way through the enemy's forces.
He had his best men with him today, his best healers, and his greatest friends. There was no way they could lose. In fact, this very army he led had already taken an entire continent back from the evil paws of the King of the Shadow Dragons, Medeus.
He looked around the battlefield, a routine habit he had of making sure everyone was okay, and saw Princess Minerva and her 'white-winged' soldiers carving a path through the carnage. He saw Navarre, the myrmidon, hacking through orcs like pillows with his Killing Edge. He saw his own warriors, Cain and Abel, easily crushing any opposition they faced. Lastly, he looked to his (arguably) greatest comrade, Prince Hardin, and his 'Wolfguard' protecting the healers in the back. No fatal injuries sustained, no losses as of yet, the battle was going smoothly.
However, while he was occupied, Marth broke through the very back of the beast army, almost losing his composure at the lack of creatures surrounding him, almost…
So he started over, and over, and over, but there seemed no end to the beastly soldiers. Still his army fought on, clearly outmatching anything the orcs might throw at them, but they were barely putting a dent in the humungous army of swine-men.
This irritated him immensely. Surely there had to be some kind of intelligent life controlling all this carnage, and perhaps if he could stop that, then this would all end.
That's when he saw it, turning around he faced the only tower still standing, albeit in ruins, and immediately knew that that's where his true foe could be found. The leader of this army he was fighting, the master of all the destruction surrounding them, was only a tower's climb away after all.
It was then he heard the noise which he feared above all others, the final cry of a dying Pegasus…
Because he only had few Pegasus-riders in his ranks, Marth feared the worst. Had she been killed, or just the steed? Was it too late to save his fiancé?
Naturally, being the dashing Prince Charming he was, Marth ran at full speed towards the place where he thought the sound had originated. Facing no opposition, as the fighting had ceased momentarily at the deathly sound, he quickly arrived at his destination.
Almost afraid to look, but almost too frantic not to, Marth calmed himself and dove into what he thought would be the worst moment of his life, only to find her highness, Princess Caeda (Sheeda), being helped up by her bodyguard and loyal soldier Ogma.
Brushing off the dirt and grime which had collected on her legs and back after the fall, she glanced over her once best friend and steed, Pringle, and sighed. Almost crying, but knowing that this was not the time for that, she simply blinked harder than usual. Her disposition didn't last long though, and she hastily grabbed her spear in order to continue fighting. She was honestly surprised, however, when she realized that the fighting had temporarily ceased and that her future husband was standing in front of her instead of leading the army.
Her surprise didn't last long either apparently, for as soon as she was sure all her armor was secure, she walked straight up to Marth, kissed him, and said, "Well don't stop on my account."
The orcs seemed to take this as encouragement, and though unskilled as they were, a few almost, almost got an extremely flustered Marth with their weapons. Thankfully, Princess Ceada was every bit as good with her Wind Spear on land as on her Pegasus (May he/she rest in peace), and could single-handedly protect both herself and her fiancé for long enough to get Marth back in the swing of things.
That, combined with her great beauty, was it for Marth.
That was the reason he had rushed to her side as soon as he heard Pringle's horrid death wail-screech (a 'screal', he and Ceada had joked earlier), because she was relatively perfect for him. They had been best of friends since childhood, always hanging around each other when they could. This had been a problem though, as their respective countries were at least three to five days journey apart. She was gorgeous, funny, smart, amazing with a spear, and absolutely perfect with horses. A killer combination; Princess and Stable Girl combined…
But now was not a time for fond memories of his beloved, now was a time of war. After all, an army of beasts had just recently raided and destroyed one of the finest kingdoms in the world, kidnapping one of Marth's greatest friends from the annual royal council, and nearly killing her hero/long-time crush Link. Now was a time for war, indeed.
Quickly relocating the tower he had seen earlier, Marth nodded to his fiancé and took off. Weaving through the chaos of the battle and cutting down any orc that stood in his way, he was rapidly making ground. The enemy, though dense as they were, did have some sort of practical defense set up near the tower's entrance, however, and it was taking longer than he thought it would to reach the open metal gate leading towards his true enemy.
Had it been an hour, or fifteen minutes? Had it been minutes, or seconds? Had he lost track of time all together?
It mattered not, as just as he reached the formerly marvelous tower, the apparent leader of the orcs galloped in front of him on his stolen steed. A horse so fine that only the Hero of Time had the privilege of owning it, as it would accept no one less. A red horse; Epona.
The creature was twice the size of the others beasts doing battle around him, and twice as ugly. Brandishing a sword the size of Marth and a shield as large as a door, the monster cried out. This worked as a symbol to all those orcs that heard him, and the fighting slowed to a standstill. All eyes were on Marth and the leader of the orc troops (who Marth had begun to think of as 'Stanley'), as the warriors circled around the pair of leaders.
Noticing all the surrounding soldiers were orcs, Marth quickly thanked his men in his head. For no doubt, they had gathered what was going on and made a small retreat to rest and reorganize themselves as soon as the fighting had stopped.
His men were brilliant at things like this, brilliant in times of war…
Cleaning his mighty sword, Falchion, on his tunic, Marth looked to the beast now known as Stanley and smirked, knowing that this duel would be won all too easily. This seemed to anger Stanley though, so, roaring out of rage, Stanley charged. The charge was sloppy, the attack was lacking accuracy, and Epona was fighting against every move Stanley forced her to make, but none of this mattered to Marth. All he had to do was get to the top of the tower, not waste time fighting the clumsiest orc to ever get a name.
Stanley was only decently smarter than your average swine-man, but that was enough to allow him to survive the first session of battle. The break seemed to surprise Stanley though, and it seemed to Marth that this orc commander had seen him as barely a threat. Roaring in defiance at his newfound opponent's skill, he charged again, trying to behead Marth where he stood. Needless to say, it didn't work…
The duel was over in the next thirty seconds, what with Marth dodging the initial attack and returning it with a quick stab to the chest, bypassing the shield all together. Stanley was dead. It had been an instant kill, a critical strike if there ever was one, but it wasn't like Marth to gloat while peoples' lives were on the line. He dashed towards the doorway, only glancing backwards long enough to see that Epona had swiftly jumped the line of orcs and was now being ridden by his betrothed.
He smiled, knowing the worst was yet to come.
The climb up the tower was almost completely uneventful. Almost. The walls and stairs were crumbling as he climbed, his cape billowing behind him, enough to where he could clearly see the layout of the entire battlefield. Enough to where he could see the attack on one of his comrades, Matthias, he believed, coming before the soldier possibly could have. Defeat by, a ninja girl?
Wincing, he continued climbing. On the wall that had fallen yet, Marth could make out several pictures of legends. One was a painting of the ruined city's Princess knighting a young man dressed almost entirely in green. Another showed a mystic triangle that's purpose eluded him. Yet another showed a large man in black bearing out his left hand towards the hero's and the Princess', each having a marking of the triangular symbol on it, with each glowing.
He would have normally been intrigued by these explicit works of art, but he had a duty to fulfill, a mission to complete, a friend to save, and a hero to rescue…
The climb was shorter than Marth had initially thought, and he made it up the deteriorating tower rather quickly. He stopped for a moment, trying to at least catch his breath before facing his true enemy for the day. It only took him a moment to regain his bearings and, rapidly downing a vulnerary, he opened the (rather large), door in front of him, seeing as the (equally large) key had already been inserted.
What was on the other side of the door was almost completely the opposite of what Marth had been expecting. The top floor of the tower was relatively safe looking, as opposed to the rest of it, and the tile didn't crumble beneath his feet as he thought it might. He was genuinely surprised to find that he could simply walk around instead of dodging pitfalls and ruins.
Another surprise came in the man that stood directly across from him, eyeing the destruction below.
The man wasn't wearing any armor, almost as if he didn't need it, and stood around nine foot tall, towering over Marth by at least three feet. Even his sword seemed larger than life and his presence simply screamed 'evil overlord'. He was the man behind the invasion; of that, Marth was sure.
"Hello, Princeling. Come to meet your death so early?"
The man turned, showing his prowess in full. He sneered at Marth, obviously expecting something more. He seemed to challenge Marth's strength just by facing him. His deep red eyes conveying his annoyance at having to fight, his confidence that he would destroy any and all foes, and that he was as evil as they come.
He wore a crown on his head, signifying his royalty or perhaps his arrogance at taking over a marvelous kingdom. However, the crown the royal family of Altea wore was nothing like what was worn by this giant. His was a yellow crystal surrounded by golden spines that wrapped through his dark red dreadlocks and spiked up towards the top. His dark robes proved that he was a being of dark magic, and the gold symbols on those robes meant that he had significant magical power. Marth had had his fill of powerful dark mages in his life, and this only angered him further.
Not only had this man kidnapped one of Marth's closest friends from the Royal Council, destroyed one of the most beautiful countries in the world, and virtually crushed the spirit of one the world's greatest heroes, he had the nerve to look like Gharnef the entire time! He had the audacity to mock the young prince with the very cloak that had been worn by his sister's kidnapper!
"What's the matter, whelp? Has my form turned you to stone? Or is it my clothes? Do you think they fit correctly?" The man spoke, purposefully trying to anger the swordsman before him. "Surely you will put up a greater challenge than the farm boy that intended to stop me in the first place."
"I shall save this kingdom, as I have several others before."
"Oh, I have no doubt, Princeling. This shall truly be a battle of royals. The Prince of the pheasants versus the King of the Gerudos. Marth vs. Ganondorf! Ha! I rather like the sound of that!" He bellowed, almost gleefully, yet still somehow containing his ominous aura around him.
Marth shook his head as he unsheathed the holy sword Falchion, "You're wrong, King Ganondorf."
"Eh? How so, Princeling?"
"My father was recently murdered, as was my mother, and this shall not be a battle. It shall be the King of Altea slaying the King of the Beasts!"
"Come at me, Orphan King!"