Well, folks--let's get right down to business. I do not own any aspect of Fire Emblem or Super Smash Brothers Melee (or any of the affiliated characters), and the reference to "The Sacred Stones" was purely for my own amusement, due to my recent addiction to the game. (Gods, Ephraim and Eirika's first support conversation is funny.)
Anyway... to get right down to business. This story is rated M for a good reason, so all of you who can't quite read this yet, please... don't go reading it and trying to sue for mental trauma caused by content. You disregard the warnings, it's your fault. Anyway... as they say in games, 'rated Mature formild sexual themes and alcohol consumption.' Oh yes... but the main pairing should be quite predictable, knowing what a little one-track minded fangirl I am. Enjoy!
"…He slept for ages, unaware of the changes that went on around him, around his cold stone chamber—how the old cemetery was abandoned, its care takers long dead, and how climbing ivy obscured the beautiful carvings on the mausoleums of the old-blooded families. He knew nothing of the busy roads that sprang up, or the bustling streets full of light and life—the swimming hole he'd once swam in with a childhood friend had been bulldozed over to make room for a strip mall, and the dark woods that he'd spent his last living moments in were almost gone. All that remained of them was the last that hid his old castle from the rest of the world, modern and restless as it was—and still he lay there in the cool dark, trapped in deathlike slumber.
"Perhaps it was his dreams that kept him sleeping, the ones that reminded him of what he used to know—his kingdom, young like himself, and his faithful mare Annabel. And then there were dreams of red hair, and fathomless blue eyes that he could drown in… and memories of passion mixed in between.
"But there were also nightmares, ones where fire and a treacherous ally destroyed his young kingdom, and where his people were sent, scattering as frightened refugees to many places, and even beyond… some seeking aid and shelter as far as a place ruled by a people with pointed ears, whose hero was garbed in green and wielded a legendary evil-banishing blade. There were others sent to death's gates, and beyond—often with unsettling swiftness.
The worst dream, though, was the dream where he stared through unblinking eyes at his young lover's face, at those beautiful blue eyes… and watched them fill with tears, accompanying a voice fruitlessly crying that he could not die… that he could not just leave like that, that it would be breaking that promise he'd made. And he could do nothing—his arms were heavy, like lead, so heavy that he could not raise them—he could not lift a hand to the face he loved so much and wipe the trails of sorrow away. He could only watch helplessly, his mouth sealed so that he could not murmur words of reassurance, to reaffirm his promise to stay forever if that was what his love wished. Then a gentle hand closed his paralyzed eyes, so that he saw no more—only heard the sounds of his lover's grief grow softer and softer, until they faded away completely.
"As the years passed, his bindings subsided, the thread sewing his mouth shut rotted away to nothing, and his lips renewed themselves so that it appeared that no needle had ever pierced them. He lay, awake and yet asleep, sealed in a tomb of purest black marble. And perhaps they were not dreams, but ancient recollections that plagued him so… he could no longer tell. Too much time had passed. All he knew was that his kingdom, the young kingdom whose people he had cherished so much—all of that was gone, even his people's bones no more than dust. Altea—yes, that had been it. That was his young kingdom's name… though it mattered little to remember it anymore. He alone of the Alteans lay asleep in this cursed not-death.
Even the language was gone. He murmured forgotten phrases in his mind, sang old songs whose true verses had died with the kingdom in his thoughts, and mourned his loss—and yet he slept on. He knew nothing of the cold concrete and steel that this new kingdom was made of, the one that sprang up from the ash-turned-dust that had been Altea.
"And so the prince vanished into Time's gaping maw. Even the tragic story of his kingdom's fall was never truly told, for no one had expected the attack that had destroyed it—no one even knew why it had fallen. Many said that King Hardin had become jealous of the young prince and his beautiful, prosperous kingdom, because it outshone his own (young as it was)—and sought to destroy it, to blot out its light before its time. Some claimed that the prince had offended the gods by taking a lover they had not sanctioned. Others believed that King Hardin had destroyed Altea in spite, because the prince had rejected him… but there was no one who was privy to the court's affairs among those who speculated.
Those who wondered soon died, and their children never brought it up—for they had never known. Soon the tale of Altea's fall grew obscure, and eventually faded away into the fabric of time—and would have vanished entirely, if not for a book a young man with red hair and striking blue eyes had written… a book that told the story in its entirety, including things which not even the prince had known.
And in the back of the book, if you turned it upside-down and held the last page first over a candle, then to a mirror, you would see the text, 'To Prince Marth, of the fallen kingdom of Altea. I promised to be with you always, and perhaps my words will keep me alive for you when you return… when you find this. With all my love—' Yet there is no name, for it was lost—and when he was freed from the seal of sleep placed over him, the prince spent years searching for the one he loved. But his search was fruitless, for he never found the one who was dearest to him."
A hooded figure shut the book, his long, pale fingers standing out starkly against its dark cover. Under the hood, he smiled at the wide-eyed children. Brushing a strand of cobalt hair away from his face, he opened his mouth to bid them good night.
"Wait… Mister, please… can you tell us another story?" one girl asked.
"Yeah, please? We promise we'll go to bed after this one!" chorused the other children.
He chuckled helplessly. "You young ones all said that two stories ago. It's almost eleven… you have to get to bed! Matron will skin me alive if I keep you up too late."
"Please, Mister?" all the children asked, wearing puppy-eyed expressions.
The man sighed. "Very well… but you have to go to bed after this one. Promise?"
"We promise!" they chorused.
"All right… what story shall I tell this time?"
"Tell us the one about the two princes of fire and ice!" cried another girl eagerly.
"What say all of you?" the hooded man asked the other children, his hands unconsciously making a regal, sweeping gesture.
"Yes, please!"
"Very well…" He opened the book again, and flipped it to the page where the story began. "Once upon a time, there was a prince whose eyes and hair were a cold, cold blue. He was known as the prince of ice, and possessed a sort of ethereal beauty that outshone that of many others, male and female alike… and he was as cold and silent as he was beautiful.
At the same time, however, there was another prince, whose eyes were also blue—but they were warm, bright with life and light, and his hair was red like an open hearth. He was known as the prince of fire, his occasional hot-headedness and fiery spirit living up to his name—and he possessed his own kind of lively comeliness that outshone that of the ice prince's, though it was less spoken of. It was one cloudy day that the two princes accidentally met…"
Having sent the children off to bed, he sensed someone coming up behind him. Standing quickly, he turned to face Matron Annika.
"Good evening, madam." He bowed, courteously.
"Ah… as well-mannered as always, Marth. How many stories did the children demand this time?"
"No more than three, madam."
"Which ones were they this time?"
"They wanted first a tale about the wolf that ran from the city until he could see the stars… then the shortened tale of the lost prince of Altea. Then, of course, we had the one about the princes of fire and ice." He smiled faintly, something that the matron caught even under the shadow of his hood.
"Why shortened?"
"Hmm? You mean the second story? Well… the truth is, madam, I attempted to tell the full story once… but it takes far too long."
"How long could it possibly be?"
"Well, if you started from the very beginning, from the prince's birth, then you have a story that spans at least three days in length. That is… if it is told via oral tradition. I suppose if it was written down, it would take less time to tell, but I enjoy telling these old tales…" He seemed momentarily lost in thought, then shook himself back to reality and smiled kindly at the woman. "Well, I had best be off… "
"We have several spare rooms. I can let you stay the night…" Matron Annika frowned inwardly as she said this. She always offered, and he always refused… and there he was now, opening his mouth to say no.
"Thank you for your kindness, madam, but I cannot stay. I'm sorry… I have someplace I have to be before sunrise." He bowed again, and turned to leave.
"You'll be back tomorrow night?" she asked. "The children really love your stories for some reason, and I guess you're the closest thing to a library that they have…"
"Of course, madam. I did say I love to tell these old tales…" Marth smiled, and walked out the door of the orphanage into the night, the thick, handwritten tome tucked under his arm.
-----
Once away from the little orphanage, he pulled back his hood. "I miss you, love," he said, addressing the night sky. "I keep telling all of the stories you liked, and even some about us… I even went as far as writing them all down, so I didn't forget. And yet I never see you. How many years has it been?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "But no matter… I suppose I will see you again, even if it's after I've been riddled full of silver bullets or something similarly painful."
He walked on, his midnight blue hooded cloak seeming out of place when juxtaposed against the sweatshirts and jackets of the few others out this late. Checking the small golden watch tucked into a pocket of his well-worn slacks, he straightened out his silver-trimmed button-up shirt. It seemed sufficiently late enough to go visit that fairly nice bar he'd seen earlier…
Slipping easily onto a barstool, he folded his hands calmly and propped his chin up on them.
"You look like you could use a drink, sir… what can I get you?"
"Just a glass of red wine for me, please…"
"Haven't seen your face here before… and I tend to remember customers as pretty as you. No offense meant of course, sir," the bartender commented cheerily as he poured him the requested glass of wine. "You can call me Jay… although not Popinjay. I'm more like a blue jay if I do say so myself. The popinjay's down that way," he motioned playfully at the other bartender, who stuck his tongue out at him in reply. "So… what's your name?"
Hesitating for a moment, he replied, "Marth."
"Interesting name you have there. I don't think I've ever come across a Marth in my entire life… Hey, Popinjay!" he called down to the other bartender. "I think I have one for the name book!"
"For the last time, I'm Robin here, and we can talk about this later! I'm busy!" Marth had to stifle a quiet chuckle at the antics of the pair, who just like that began to argue with each other.
"If you aren't too busy, Jay, what do you mean by the 'name book'?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Well," Jay replied, momentarily halting his bickering with Robin, "the name book's just a regular old guest book… except that we made it different by having only the people whose names are fairly unique sign it. You'll find no Tom, Dick, or Jane in there… although you will find people named things like Samus Aran or Link. We even got a Captain Falcon once—the bloke wouldn't give us any other name, so we put him in there. Granted, he was wearing a bodysuit and a red helmet… it figures that a guy like that wouldn't use any other name. His car was a bit wacky, too… we heard that the guy got ten speed limit violations in the same week."
Marth could only smile… it was not often he met a bartender who was this talkative and yet not obnoxious.
-----
"So… are you new in town?" Jay asked. "I know most of the locals, since half of them stop here and the other half I see during the day. I know I'd remember your face, so… you must be new."
"I've been here for a while now," Marth said quietly. He wrapped his cloak a little tighter around himself with one hand, sipping from the wine glass. "One might just say that I'm more the night life type."
"You know, he looks an awful lot like one of those twins who stopped in the other day… Ephraim and Eirika, I think they were called. He's almost a dead ringer for Ephraim, except for the hair color… Ephraim's is a bit lighter," Robin commented.
"Except Eirika would have our heads for giving Ephraim any form of alcohol… you remember the last time he had a scotch on the rocks here? He was quite busy trying to beg Seth (I would pity the man, except that Ephraim is rather attractive) into sleeping with him half-way through that glass. That certainly didn't go over very well with Eirika." Turning to Marth, the bartender grinned cheekily. "That's two more in our name book… and Eirika comes back here with her brother occasionally, though she doesn't let him have anything stronger than apple juice."
"… You wouldn't have ever met someone named Roy, would you?" the cloaked man said thoughtfully.
"We've gotten a few Roy's… what does he look like?"
"He has red hair, shorter than mine," he motioned towards his nearly shoulder-length hair, "and blue eyes that you could drown in."
"… Interesting. Hey, Popinjay—"
"It's Robin, and yeah… there was a Roy like that the other day."
"How old is he?" Marth asked, perking up suddenly.
"He's about seventeen. Came in here with a blonde guy with pointed ears the other day… that's the Link that Jay over there was talking about."
"Ah… I see."
"Question—why this interest in him?"
"You could say that I'm a very old friend of his." Becoming suddenly aware that perhaps he was divulging too much, he stopped speaking and silently downed the rest of the glass.
-----
Paying for the wine, Marth signed the bartenders' name book and left, his mind in turmoil. He'd found him! But… he was only a teenager, and not even legal yet… What were the odds of him believing his farfetched story? And this Link character… surely Roy would be more likely to be in a relationship with him rather than a total stranger!
Brushing a few stray locks of cobalt hair from his face, Marth pulled his hood back up and took off into the darkness of the night. He could think all he liked while he slept… for now, he was hungry.
Peach sat at the bar in the club, feeling the bass beat from the music reverberate through her body. Nursing her third drink, she surveyed the gyrating, grinding mass of bodies on the dance floor, and scowled darkly.
"Something wrong, Peachie?" Daisy asked, noting her scowl from where she sat beside her.
"Nothing really, Daisy… it's just that we've done this enough times, hit enough clubs, and it's lost all its intrigue. I came here to have fun, but there's really nothing I want to do."
"Well, we could always go down to the dance floor."
"With who? I don't see any guys worth picking up around right now. They're all taken…"
"Well, a little birdie once told me that two freaking girls will attract a bit of attention… we could pick up a couple of dates that way." Daisy grinned mischievously.
"I don't really feel like it right now, Daisy… sorry."
"Oh, that's all right Peachie," the brunette replied, eyes twinkling. "Besides, there's someone new who just walked in the door—he's a bit of a looker, too. Now if only he'd take that bloody hood off…"
Looking towards the doorway of the club, Peach saw that Daisy was right indeed… the newcomer seemed fairly good-looking, even though he was wearing a midnight-blue cloak. "Hmm… maybe I'll go see if I can nab him. Catch you later, Daisy!"
"All right, Peachie. Later!"
-----
"Excuse me…. Would you like to come have a drink with me?" Peach asked. "You're by yourself too, aren't you?"
"Yes, I do suppose I am…" he murmured. After a bit of thought, he replied, "I don't see any harm in doing so. Thank you."
She led him to a table located in the corner, within Daisy's field of vision. "So… any preference?"
"Not really… I'm not the most familiar with club drinks."
"Ah… I see. Well, there's one called Sex on the Beach that you might like… I'll buy. Does that sound good?" She smiled, a hint of something predatory in her grin.
He appeared to completely miss the suggestion. "Thank you, miss… that sounds lovely."
Miss? But he didn't look more than five years older than her! Peach pushed the thought aside, dismissing the title as merely an odd habit. She bade the man to seat himself and went to order the drinks for both of them.
-----
Sipping at her drink, it occurred to her that they'd not even so much as introduced themselves. "I'm Peach," she told him, attempting to strike up a conversation.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Peach," he replied. "I'm Marth."
"That's an interesting name… I don't think I've ever heard that one before."
"No less unique than Peach, one would think," Marth said, off-handedly. He fiddled with the turquoise-inlaid clasp that kept his cloak fastened. Pulling down his hood, he tossed his drink back.
"Touché." She thought for a moment, then made up her mind. "So… you want to go someplace, just the two of us?"
Marth blinked at the request. "Is that something one normally does, or did I accidentally turn on my glamour?"
She began to laugh. "Oh man… that's the best line I've heard for ages, Marth!" Calming down, she looked straight into his eyes and felt a wave of pure, utter lust wash over her. "No… I meant that we could go somewhere, to your place or mine, and have… quite a lot of fun," she purred, placing one of her gloved hands on his thigh. It sent a little thrill through her when he shivered slightly at the touch.
"All right…" Was it just her imagination, or had his voice suddenly become deep, husky—sexy? She didn't really care anyway… she just couldn't wait. Taking him by the hand, she led him out of the club.
He felt bad for leading her on like this, but he was hungry—and she was the most convenient meal he could find. She looked fairly healthy, and her throat was bared deliciously by her pink halter top. To everyone else it simply looked like he had just picked up a hot date or something similar… and it was perfect, really.
Ducking into an alleyway, he looked into her eyes again and murmured, "I can't wait… I'm sorry."
She didn't reply, only crushing her mouth to his in a ravenous kiss. When he broke it and lapped at her throat, she tilted her chin up and offered him better access. For realism's sake, he slid a hand under her halter-top, which she eagerly led up to press against an ample breast.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her throat, "this isn't going to go quite as you planned." Before she could clear her lust-hazed mind enough to ask what he meant, he sank a pair of gleaming white canines into a vein, and suckled hard at the blood that flowed from the punctures. Removing his hand from her breast, he brought it down to below her miniskirt and fingered her, telling himself mentally that she wouldn't resent him so much if she went out mid-orgasm.
"Ahh… Marth…" He increased the suction at her throat when Peach moaned helplessly, caught in the middle of the blending sensations of pain and pleasure.
-----
Hunger sated, he removed his fangs from her lifeless throat. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his fingers and folded it neatly. He would have to get it washed later… but no matter. First, he had to clear the table.
Sketching a spell-circle in the air with a practiced hand, he etched the last line with a flourish, dotted the last rune, and gestured down at Peach's body. She was promptly consumed by a conflagration that left her nothing more than ashes in a second—which the wind picked up and carried away.
"May your spirit move quickly on," he murmured, pulling his hood back over his face to hide how his lips were now vividly red with traces of his bloody meal.
He woke with a start. "Marth… My prince, how far you have fallen…" he whispered, not really knowing what he said—having spoken in the dead language of Altea.
"Roy? Is something wrong?" Link asked from the bed across the room. Roy only raked a hand through his perpetually messy red hair and stared blankly out the window besides his own bed.
"… I just had a weird dream, that's all…" he muttered, as if half trying to convince himself.
"By the way, what was that you said?"
"Huh?" He turned his attention from the window to his blonde roommate. "You couldn't understand that?"
"Heck no… let's put it this way. You're me, and I'm you. Suppose I suddenly start spouting Ancient Hylian—"
"All right, all right… I get the picture." Roy scowled and made as if to throw his pillow at the Hylian.
Laughing, Link mock-dodged… and quickly sobered, remembering his original question. "So… what was it you said?"
"… It doesn't make sense anyway. Go back to sleep."
'My prince, how far you have fallen… I only pray that you have not fallen so far that even love is lost to you…'
A/N: Well, I never really thought I'd do a vampire story. Go figure. --;;
Anyway, for anyone confused, the glamour was (I think) a particular kind of charm vampires can use that makes it quite easy for them to seduce a person. If there are any vampire story buffs out there that want to help me out/correct me, feel perfectly free to do so! Feedback is much appreciated from anyone, vampire buff or not, however. Thanks for reading, and no... it's not over. Not by a looong shot. XD
