A/N: This is going to be a tale about one of my favorite characters of Brawl. I think he's very mysterious and interesting, with a complicated past. I believe he has much potential for conflict and character development, so please tell me if I'm on the right track. I think I went a little crazy with my best friend Thesaurus today, so please provide feedback. As always, I can't thank you enough for reading. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: A Rebellious Royal
The charming, suave, and regal prince smoothed his shiny, navy hair, tugged at his royal blue tunic, and shuffled around on his blue-booted feet. He grimaced as he glanced down at himself. Had his retainers really had to choose so much blue? Though few people knew it, the swordsman's favorite color was not blue, unlike the attire he was always required to present, but white, like the pure and innocent snow that drifted lazily yet gracefully to the despairing ground around him now, dusting it in a shimmering layer that was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
But then again, few people really knew him. He had never told anyone his favorite holiday, he'd never shared a secret (most were too deadly to think about, let alone share), and he'd never laughed with a true friend over a simple jest.
Instead, he sat straight-backed and stiff in his father's throne, nodding to some unknown person because he always had to avoid eye contact, pretending to know the answers to questions he was asked, acting like he knew what he was doing. He approved or rejected laws, told off peasants, and studied quietly in his brimming-over library.
He hated it, every single second. He loathed the way his advisers sneered at a humble villager, jeered at him when he left, or beat him senseless for a simple comment muttered on accident. The prince could do nothing of it, lest he lose the support of said advisors, who had ascended him to his position in the first place. And he could not lose his royalty because of his last, hesitant vow to his sister.
He glared whenever his teachers attempted to get him to study, and they usually backed off, and the ones that didn't were ignored. The prince wasn't cruel enough to fire them, especially when the kingdom was failing so swiftly. He blamed himself for this; the death of his only remaining family was indolently eating away at his heart, enjoying every cheated bite. Also, with the arrival of an invitation to a curious fighting tournament, the prince had been preoccupied with pondering for days.
Now, as he carefully stepped only on the stone path to preserve the source of his favorite time of the year, the experienced swordsman was endeavoring to slash down all of the worries knotting in his stomach. Rubbing his tummy for a second, he buried his head in his arms and tried to clear his mind.
Everything will be fine. Everything will be alright. Everything is going to be okay.
He raised his pale, numbing head and gazed at the grayish-white sky. A fluffy snowflake brushed his face caressingly, and he grinned a rare, happy grin. As the piece of snow melted on the tip of his nose, he swallowed hard and walked up to the wide oak doors. They were magnificently carved and detailed, embossed with streams of gold. Though they were beautiful, they were nothing compared to the manor itself.
The blue-haired prince lifted his long-fingered and blanched hand to the door, making a fist in his navy gauntlet. However, he hesitated, and inhaled a sweet breath of frosty air, and exhaled it gently through his parted, colorless lips. With his sister in mind, he rapped his chilled and bare knuckles against the door.
There was muffled scrambling heard behind the doors, and the swordsman cocked his head curiously. He waited for a few more seconds, wondering if he should knock again, when the doors swung open with a rush of warm, sugary wind.
A curvy young woman with voluptuous bright yellow hair and giant, innocent cerulean eyes was standing there, observing him in the oncoming muted twilight. He was quite unsure what to say, but then recognition seemed to dawn on her girlish face as she batted her thick eyelashes at him playfully.
"Hello there," she welcomed, her voice more maternal than flirtatious, which relieved some tension in his stomach. "You must be the 'Challenger Approaching!'. Come inside, dear, it's freezing out there."
She ushered him in, and he thanked her graciously, but he was slightly confused as to her voice. It was high-pitched, juvenile-sounding, yet she acted as though she raised five children. She looked no older than he did, and he was sixteen.
Once she had him seated on the sofa, making quite sure he was comfortable, she said, "Let me get you some cookies."
Now just downright astounded (was he at the right address?) he could only sit there in bafflement as she waltzed back in with a tray of cookies and tea. She laid it on the glass table in front of him and grinned. "Try one!"
He took a timid bite, and, in discovering their delicious, mouth-watering qualities, grinned back at her. Then, before he could react, she raised her sweet voice in a shrill summon: "Mario!"
To say the prince's eyes widened was an understatement. He may lead a slightly seclusive life as the ruler of an independent kingdom, but even he had heard of Mario. He suspected there wasn't a person alive who hadn't heard of this man. He was famous around the world for all the dangers he had faced only to save the woman he loved.
The Prince of Altea looked around nervously, and then, eyes catching on the girl perched on the couch arm next to him, realized at once who it was.
Princess Peach smiled down at him. "What was your name, hun?"
"I—um, I'm Prince—"
"Whoa!" someone yelled, cutting him off. The prince craned his neck back to see behind him, and was humiliated to find about twelve people staring at him as though he were the end of the world. A young boy in a red cap with closely cropped black hair stood in front of the small crowd, his black eyes gleaming with thrill. He turned back to his audience and bellowed excitedly, "A CHALLENGER!"
Conversations exploded behind the prince, and amidst the yelling, he was able to pick up furious debates over something. The blue-haired young man stood up cautiously, not trusting his instincts. He was overwhelmed and perplexed here; this was the furthest thing from what he knew. Everyone had their eyes glued to him, but their gazes began wavering from him to someone else in the room. Their screams suddenly decreased to fervent mutterings, which warned the prince as he revolved slowly on his heel.
A lone figured stood in the threshold, silhouetted by a flickering fireplace in the adjoining room. As he walked into the light of the massive chandelier on top of them, the prince steeled his nerves impressively.
There, in front of him, stood the best fighter in the universe.
"Hello," the short man said colloquially, a wineglass sloshing about in his hand. The prince cocked a navy eyebrow contumaciously. For some reason – maybe the wine, maybe the fat man's cocky swagger – this man made him feel nettled, and his vexation increased when the big-nosed man began to glare at him, equally challenging. He swished the white wine around in its glass as he snobbishly examined it.
"We must duel, Challenger. It is the appropriate way to be accepted into this fine contest of power. Are you prepared?" His voice held subtle contempt, and the prince knew his first rule of Melee was learned: Mario is master.
The swordsman tightened his fingers on his legendary blade Falchion's grip. He nodded, attempting to keep the corners of his mouth from a mischievous grin. He had practically been born to break the rules.
The squat man in the overalls narrowed his untrustworthy blue eyes. "Good," he spat at the prince, but to the others fighters it was as friendly as could be. "Follow me. We must demand a melee at once." Without another glance, the mustached man walked out of the room, depositing his wine on a table. Holding his chin high, the prince did indeed follow, as did the other fighters, a few still daring to murmur speculatively.
They reached a plain white room, completely empty, save for a raised platform, which the challenger assumed to be their destination. He halted outside like the rest of the Smashers, but was then pushed inside by a few meek hands and a few rough ones. He stumbled inside, and just glimpsed Mario's smirk, but it disappeared instantly. The swordsman was bewildered, but, taking from the way he acted on the throne, pretended to be indifferent.
"Step into the glowing circle when it appears," the fighting king instructed calmly. Was the young, handsome royalty really the only one to hear his sneer? "We will be transported to a stage. The light may blind you for a moment. You will hear a countdown. At go, we may fight. Anytime before that word and your foe will win by default. To win here, you must defeat your opponent. To do this, you must obtain a knockout. To achieve a knockout, you must blast your enemy out-of-boundaries. You will know when you do this because there will be a burst of a certain colored light, and then they will appear above the stage on a recovery platform. We measure damage by percentage. The higher a fighter's percentage, the better the chance for a knockout. When you are knocked out, the recovery platform picks you up and instantly your damage is zero. The match ends when the time limit is over. Whoever has the most knockouts is the winner. In our case, if I win, you must leave and return to wherever you came from. If you win—" here Mario paused from his steady explanation to snicker. "—you are allowed to stay and compete in this tournament."
After all of this, the blue-haired swordsman simply shook his head in the affirmative, trying to concentrate. Receiving an opprobrious glower in reply, the master pressed an unnoticeable button off to the side of the room.
Mario climbed onto the platform in the center of the room that was higher than the rest. It was simply a raised block, and on each side of the strip a fighter stood, the prince having followed his foe's example. Two glowing rings lit up in front of them.
The swordsman lifted his right foot to place it inside the circle, when the King spoke again.
"Oh, and Challenger," he called tauntingly, "don't hold back."
The prince's left boot came after his right. Now he looked up through is navy bangs and directly into Mario's eyes, and unleashed warning and irritation and confidence in his gaze, delighted to see the fat man becoming apprehensive.
Light was enveloping them, and he felt a fuzzy, tickling sensation, but there was a second before they disappeared entirely.
"I don't intend to," Marth Lowell promised.
A/N: Hey guys, it's me again. I want to thank you (4) reviewers sooo much for everything you said! Every time I read it or got a new one, I promise and lie to you not, I was jumping up and down and squealing with joy. And I'm going to address every (4) of you! Thank you MarvelMe, you REALLY made my day, because I love the story you have going on. Please update! Thank you sooo much Etiema! That one especially made me squeal. Gracias Anyone() who I thank for being my special 2nd review, I encourage you to get an account. And thank you Guessworks, for being my 1st review ever. Practically made my year. Also, thanks for adding me to favorite Authors, or Favorite Stories, or Author Alert. That makes me grin from ear to ear. Like the Grinch. I'm selfish and want more reviews. So please review, my freaky darlings! (No offense. It's a quote from "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Anyone? …okay…) Thanks my lovelies!
P.s.: Maybe as you've realized, this is set in Melee. Should I add Brawl characters? Not sure yet. Also, if anyone was confused, they were all debating over who would get to fight him, but then big-bad Mario showed up. Oh, and please tell me if I'm boring you. That's my worst fear.
Quick Side Note: I kind of spontaneously decided to make this a few chapters, so I would be ecstatic to receive suggestions. Please try to stick with the theme of this fic. Please, no yaoi, no, uh, what's the word, lemon? (still getting used to terms.) None of that is supposed to be offensive, I'm just sticking with what I'm comfortable with. Also note that if you send an idea, I may mold it around a bit. I'm really more looking for inspiration than anything, but I do have a few ideas up my sleeve. I know I've said this about 99897697000 times, but THANK YOU!
ANOTHERQuickNote: sorry for being boring. And annoying. But who here loves footy pajamas?