The Companion

By Opus Triumphant

Being most anxious to post a story on this site, I have determined to upload a relatively short story that I hope readers will enjoy. It will be serialized in three parts, and updates should be reasonably quick. The Companion was inspired by slumberous musings and Edith Wharton's novel The House of Mirth. I must own, I am little acqauinted with the history of Marth, beyond those summaries I have found on the Internet, and several lines regarding him of SSBM, so please forgive my ignorance. Thank you to all who read! Ah, and regarding a disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters appearing in this story that are evidently derived from Super Smash Brothers, and/or their respective video games. Any events coinciding with Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth are... ehm... purely coincidental.

Cheers,

Opus Triumphant (10. 22. 05)

I

LETTER. FORMER PRINCE MARTH TO LORD ROY OF PHAERE.

My dearest and most honourable friend, —3 August.

When one is married to a Pokemon, there is neither elegance, nor happiness.

There is a graceless struggle to preserve one's dignity, perhaps, but no elegance. The concept of sophistication, and all that is embodied within, become taunting luxuries. Class, refinement, subtlety: all are luxuries swimming upon the margins of my longing. They mock my memory and constitution, they haunt my mind unceasingly. And oh! when I fling myself forward, looking to seize these conceptions, they hurdle out of my reach, and hover inches from my fingertips, laughing.

Notions, true, cannot laugh. Yet, the idea that they cannot originated in another time, in a rational zone I myself have long been absent from. Here, upon the verge of insanity, everything is different, and tangible: the notion of elegance, stabbed through by the ice pick of my circumstances; the notion of happiness, strangled by the same. The notion of death, winging like a dove toward me, only pausing to preen its toxic, vulture-like plumage when I am too weak and horrified to further entertain it...

I grow diffuse. Allow me to pause, dear friend, and regress in my narrative—to explain myself—to ink my pen. I have come to the point where I am unable to contain myself much longer. I beg of you to be accommodating, just as before, in the course of our friendship. I fear you are the sole support I have in this terrible world. I am waiting now, and the wait it becoming intolerable, and I must do something if I am to keep from slipping into... yes, from slipping. I do not ask that you act upon my account, only that you read, so that you will know me for who I am, and not for who she says I am. Though, at this point, I am not entirely sure if I am in the right—perhaps she is. However, I digress, and seek to influence your opinion. Only read, good Roy, and keep this narrative close. Furnish me with some illusion of relief in my agony! This is all I ask.

II

I am a gentleman of good connection. At least, I pride myself upon being a man of good connection. She would disagree, but what does that impoverished creature know of connection? The only reason she may speak of such things is due to myself. Yet, what decent soul would wish to boast having connections with me, Marth, former Prince of Altea?

I cannot remember if Altea is still the name of my mother country. The papers might have said something regarding the subject. It has been long since I last read one, being in no condition to make such an exhausting effort. I have been ill of late. Ill with dejection, I assume. I would ask why you and your doctor friend do not visit me, but there is no point in doing so. I know you are busy. As for him...

I was once the son of a great Altean king. The fruits of the world had been sprawled at my feet during that time, left to my disposal, dripping with the honey of merit and good position. I do not think I have been happier or more celebrated since: I was the toast of the noblesse, the scion of Altea's throne, the "great example" all sought and looked toward. Allow me, dearest friend, a minute or so of vain reminiscence! I lacked nothing, I wished for little. Life was all kindness—and with her dwelled damnable Change!

I was eighteen when Altea was overrun by the kingdom of Dolua. All that I was accustomed to was devastated and slaughtered, and I myself dragged before Dolua's sovereign and generals, and exiled. My tormentors were crass, for they gave me no horse, allowed me no more than a manservant and a pitiable wardrobe, bundled me from the kingdom with the greatest indignity, insulted my name, and questioned my manliness. I was also left with trifling means, and bereft of all recommendation.

I began my trek with no particular destination in mind. I contemplated vengeance—perhaps I would lead a rebellion!—but was in no state to carry out these thoughts at the time. I acquired a horse only after many a grueling mile, and determined to travel to the furthest extremes of the Nintendo continent, having been banished from my own.

My progress was halted much sooner than I had anticipated. I was unused to such expeditions, and fell sick, fainting upon the road when the conditions became to great. My attendant was forced to seek shelter and medical attention in a nearby town. There was snow upon the ground, and the mountains, several leagues distant, a range of varied blues and uniform white against the brilliance of the limpid sky. My manservant told me, when I was strong enough to attend to his speech, that we were lodged in a sumptuous inn, called the Auberge, some miles from the Icicle Mountain Range. He also enlightened me as to the name of the physician who took care of me during my fevered hours. I failed to catch it.

I was most elated to hear his news regarding the Auberge. I rose, once I had swallowed a bit of mint tea, and dressed. I was delighted to find myself in a chamber most suitable for my erstwhile station, and for a moment, basked in fantasy, supposing I had not fallen, and was still a gentleman of consequence, connection and property.

I determined to dine as a gentleman should, and made my way into the salon. The room was full of early risers, for it was only a little past ten. I was instantaneously caught by the sunlit scene. There were a myriad of aristocratic circles, each member dressed in handsome morning attire, with countenances flushed by the cold (these persons, I presumed, had but lately come in from a promenade). All were seated at neat white tables, which were prettily set with napkins and silverware. The room hummed with the pleasant murmur of conversation, and was pervaded by a number of smells: malodorous whiffs of Cuban cigars, the aroma of butter and cream, bread and hot pork, tea and kippers and Yorkshire pudding. I was most enchanted.

My manservant announced me to the maître d'hôtel, and I was led across the room. The table to which we proceeded was, to my delight, in the vicinity of a circle whose members were splendid in their dress and manners. I alternately laugh and weep to recall that day—my good friend, do you yourself remember? I dare say, your back was to my initially, so you probably do not recall that particular moment. As for myself, deep impressions where made in that instant—there you were, accompanied by Lord Raura, Mlle. Zelda, and Doctor Link, whose overt gentility impressed me. And try as I might, I cannot forgot the two who were imprinted upon the forefront of my memory in that moment: Mrs. Peach, and Mr. Bowser. How captivated I was, despite her gregarious tone, and his flask of wine! I was charmed, and my doom was sealed.

As I neared my table, the fatal Mrs. Peach (whose name I was not acquainted with at the time), suddenly bounded from her seat and cried, "Why Doctor Link, if it is not the gentleman you have so generously serviced these past several days! He has entered among the living!"

Her utterance turned heads, there were several exclamations, and I received an arching of thick, crimson eyebrows from Mr. Bowser. Doctor Link rose, looking pleased. "My good sir, you have recovered!" he said, clapping me heartily upon the shoulder. "I am delighted! Please, please, sit down!"

He conducted me to his own seat, and pulled up a chair. I was dizzy with the kindness of everyone's greeting. I started to give effusive thanks. The act was waved aside, however, and the story of my illness, and Doctor Link's intervention, was related. It seems my manservant had carried me into the resort, after I had fainted, and cried, "Is there a doctor who can attend to my master? for he is dreadfully ill!" Doctor Link, hearing his voice, hastened to my side, and gave a quick examination. "Quickly man, he must have a room!" he cried, and the Auberge's proprietor hastened to ready one for my benefit.

I remembered very little of Doctor Link's care. Several of the party assured me is was quite assiduous. Mlle. Zelda, a girl of sixteen who was traveling in the company of her uncle, Lord Raura, professed I had been "several times at the brink of death". Nevertheless, the illness became innocuous, and it was declared that I should recover.

"I must admit," exclaimed Mrs. Peach, at this point in the narration, "that I am responsible for inducing the good doctor from your side. You see, he was keeping vigil, and was looking somewhat drawn and famished, and I was quite anxious. However, I remembered how dreadful you yourself appeared when you were first conveyed into the Auberge, and I was loath to have you abandoned merely for his sake. Yet the report regarding your health was so favourable that I could not help but come to the doctor with my complaints concerning his own health. He was adamant as to being quite well—" And here she laughed quite prettily, sitting back and clapping her little hands. "I told him that a diet consisting solely of tea and kippers would not do, and he must come down and partake of a bit of ham and spirits." She tittered. "But no, he would only have tea. You see, however, that he did come down and dine at a proper table. That was a day ago. Yet, you have recuperated so thoroughly that there cannot have been any danger in the action!" She looked at me with such a charming air and lovely smile that I was quick to concur.

During the whole episode, the doctor merely sat with legs crossed and arms folded over his chest, smiling thinly.

Mr. Bowser had been silent during the whole exchange, sipping instead upon his prime Madeira. Suddenly, he leaned forward and asked, "Now, your recuperation is quite fine and all. Nonetheless, I'd be pleased to hear you give your name; I know your man attempted to give it. I'd rather hear it from the master."

I bowed my head, briefly. "Marth," I replied. "Former prince of Altea."

Mr. Bowser drew back slowly, his eyelids low and manner knowing.

"Truly?" you exclaimed (pray, dearest Roy, would you recall that? For you have never been one for details). "It was all in the papers, what happened with Altea and Dolua! The articles said you had been exiled."

"I was," I said.

There was a great deal of commiseration. "Are you quite alone then?" Mlle. Zelda asked.

"Yes, quite."

Mrs. Peach fluttered her hands. "You cannot mean to say you have traveled all this way without some notable companion, can you?" she cried. She seemed truly concerned.

"Unfortunately yes madam. In that respect, I was quite alone."

"Then you must come with us!" she said. "We are at present touring the northern half of the Nintendo continent, and we would be most thrilled to have you join our party." There was a murmur of agreement, and my eyes widened.

"I am without means or recommendation!" I cried, astounded by the generosity of the offer. "Surely I would only hamper you."

"Ah..." Mrs. Peach gave a slow, disarming wink. "But you are a prince."

And it was with that assurance that I was inducted to Mr. Bowser and Mrs. Peach's band. Had I only foreseen the terrible consequences!

Comments, questions, and constructive criticisms are all welcome.