"If Lycia falls to Zephiel, nothing will stop him from crossing into Akaneia." Commander Jeigan's mouth was drawn in a stern line and Marth could see the years of battle blazing behind his aged eyes. He had fought alongside the valiant warrior and knew that he could trust the Commander's instincts as surely as he could trust his own.
The high priest at the opposite end of the table huffed his indignation, "The Bernians are just dragon-worshipping heretics; you inflate their influence and strength past its merit."
"The entire continent of Elibe, save for Lycia, has crumbled beneath the Bernians and it is unlikely that Zephiel's megalomania will be satisfied with that. Once he has built up an army, he will not hesitate to conquer the nations of Akaneia." Jeigan had always taken potential threats to Altea very seriously and had always insisted upon their early extermination.
"And what is Elibe? Its nations are primitive and weak, loosely governed at best. The Houses of Lycia will put an end to this nonsense." While Marth had to agree that Lycia had strength, Bern was celebrated as one of the greatest war machines in the world; even the famed Pegasus Knights of Ilia had failed against her.
"If that is true, then Altea should send troops to Lycia's aid to ensure its end." A captain reasoned. Marth recognized him as head of the wind unit.
"Altea cannot spare its Knights; Cornelius was harsh with the Doluans in their defeat six years ago. If they see that Altea's army is diluted, they may take the opportunity for vengeance, especially in light of the recent change in Altea's administration." The commander and his captains glowered at the high priest for his blatant insult to their young king. Little Marth had spent his infancy on the training grounds, on the battlefields; he had seen the world they had seen, felt the brotherhood they had felt. He was their brother; he was their son; he was their king. But they said nothing, as Garnef outranked them all.
Marth disregarded it; it was no concern of his if the priest thought little of his ability to rule. The previous king might have valued Garnef's opinion, but the current king had no time for religion. His only concern was Altea.
It was in this midst of heated tempers that they heard a polite knock on the door. Ellis poked her head in and gave the men a gentle smile of apology for interrupting their council meeting. She hurried to her brother's side and leaned down over Marth's shoulder to whisper into his ear.
"A fire user has been caught stealing from the kitchens." Marth's interest was immediately sparked. Fire users were extremely rare and ferocious in combat. They could be terrible enemies, or vital allies. Altea had none.
"A fire user? Are you sure?"
She nodded, the same glimmer of excitement shining in her eyes. "His using was careless and wasteful; it's likely he hasn't had formal training." Neither Bern nor Dolua had fire users. This little thief might decide Altea's battles, so Marth resolved to postpone his own decision.
"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I must adjourn this meeting temporarily. A situation that requires my attention has just arisen." He gave them a curt nod and followed his sister out the door.
She led him down to the dungeons where two water users were guarding a holding cell. Cornelius Lowell had never believed in keeping prisoners inside the castle and their dungeons were mostly used for storage, but they left a few open for this kind of circumstance.
A boy with dirty red hair sat slumped against the wall, trembling and clenching his shackled fists. The tattered tunic draped over his angular frame did little to hide his vicious scars. Desperate rage emanated from every line on his body.
Marth nodded to the guards to hand over the keys. At the sound of the great swinging door, the boy raised his head. Despite the boy's state, the young king was unprepared for the savagery in those burning blue eyes. They were defiant and steady. He was not afraid.
Marth knelt before the boy, never averting his eyes.
"What is your name?"
The boy only glared at him, his expression was a challenge. He dared his interrogator to get information from him.
"How old are you?"
The boy only tightened his jaw, steeling himself for a blow. He would push his captor past his impatience, but he would also accept the consequences without complaint.
From the look of him, the boy had endured his share of torture and was prepared to take more before he spoke. Lucky for him, the king had no intention of harming this precious fire user.
Elemental Doctrine taught tranquility and balance; fire users were condemned as disruptive to the natural order. Elemental priests and Altean citizens alike hunted any who displayed the characteristics. Young fire users were extinguished.
Marth was looking at raw survival. Force would not do for this boy, nor would compassion. The boy was too headstrong to surrender a battle of will power and too proud to accept pity.
"Since it seems you are decidedly against cooperation, let me offer you a chance at confrontation." The boy's expression shifted subtly into a skeptical scowl, but Marth took it as permission to continue. "We will feed you and provide you with a weapon and if you can defeat me in a fair fight, you will be free to go. However, if you cannot, you must agree to stay here and study fire using under my instruction. These will be the terms of our deal."
The boy studied Marth's hard blue eyes, searching for a deception that wasn't there. He sunk back against the wall of his cell and begrudgingly murmured his agreement.
Marth stood and unshackled the boy, gesturing for him to follow. He dismissed the two guards and gave his sister a reassuring smile that told her he had the situation under control. She offered the guards a small curtsey and took her leave.
He led the boy to the kitchens where the disgruntled cooks served the would-be thief a generous helping of beef stew and a half-loaf of fresh bread. Marth took the opportunity to study the famished boy more closely. He could only be a few years younger than the king, perhaps fourteen or fifteen and his posture suggested more than humble origins. Beneath the layer of dirt coating his skin, and free of that unbearable scowl, he could see that the boy was surprisingly beautiful. With every moment Marth's eyes were on him, the more intrigued he became.
Once the boy finished, Marth led him to the armory where their duel was to take place. It was moderately crowded, as it usually was during the evening. Some of his more devoted knights liked to get in a little extra practice here when the training grounds were too dark. He saw a few of his captains were present, working off some of the aggression they had built up during the council meeting.
Even as the boy examined the variety of weapons, he didn't utter a word. Marth noticed that the boy seemed to have an eye for a good sword. He tested their edges, measured their grip, checked their weight and balance until he finally came to a blade that seemed to suit his size and build. The young king, a practiced swordsman himself, sensed that this fight would not be as easy as he had originally predicted.
The two boys positioned themselves in the center of the sizeable room, ten paces from each other, and had gathered the attention of most of their company. Curious whispers circulated around them.
"Altean Knights," their king commanded their attention and it was duly given. "This boy was caught stealing from the castle kitchens. In order to settle this matter, we will fight. No one is to interfere. Should the boy win, he is to go free without resistance, is that understood?" His knights affirmed it and Marth turned to his adversary, who wore a cynical smirk.
"Very chivalrous of you, your majesty. Flattering that you should handle my petty thievery personally. Unusual that Altea's king has nothing better to do than to put a commoner in his place. You are a weakling and a coward."
His poisonous words were only bait to the young king. His clarity of voice suggested valor and cunning. Marth wanted this ally all the more for it.
"And you are my better?" Marth wanted to provoke the boy further, wanted to lure more words from him, to know more.
"Every man in this room is your better. Warriors, they are. You are barely a man at all; unfit to call himself ruler of anyone." The boy was playing a dangerous game and he knew it. Not only was he pushing his luck with the king, he was pushing his luck with men who had sworn their lives to the king. Marth could imagine the boy standing among his knights with his passion and sense of justice.
"Then let us change the terms of our deal. Prove me less than a man." Marth wanted to see this boy battle with all of his heart, to fight for something he believed in. He could take a little risk to obtain his loyalty. Altea needed this boy. "Should I be rendered unfit to rule, you will be named Altea's king."
"I don't want your power." His beautiful features contorted into a grimace of disgust.
"If you don't want to be king, you can always choose a replacement. Any man would do, right?" The boy searched him with the same disbelief he had in the dungeon. He didn't find what he was looking for and nodded in grim agreement.
Marth called the attention of his knights once again, however unnecessarily, and announced the new terms of their agreement. Many of his knights looked uneasy about them, but an equal number, having seen their young king fight, were amused. He looked pointedly at the few captains present.
"These are my orders as king."
He turned to the boy before him and raised his sword in challenge. His adversary eagerly accepted the invitation and charged.
His style was aggressive and reckless. His strikes were fast and accurate. Marth fought him defensively at first, studying him, adjusting to his rhythm, just barely dodging and deflecting the boy's blows. He was impressed with the boy's enthusiasm and talent, but his movements seemed to be awkward and foreign.
The boy became frustrated with his inability to land a hit and instead retreated to launch a wave of flames at his opponent. The sudden change in tactics surprised Marth, but it was amateur at best; a simple ice shield was enough. A curious murmur spread through Altea's knights. They had never seen a live fire user before.
The boy staggered back, apparently astounded that the king was an ice user. Unusual. The Lowell family was notorious for having produced many of the world's ice users.
The boy recovered from his shock quickly and sent another furious wave at the young king, this one much larger and under less control. Marth easily deflected and dissipated it, but what he was most interested in was not the boy's ability, but the fact that he was using his sword and his element interchangeably instead of in conjunction. Without that harmony, his victory was impossible. He decided that the boy had had enough and descended upon him.
Once on the offensive, the young king proved to be a formidable foe. He landed several blows to the boy's thighs and rib cage, always using the flat of his blade. The fire user retreated, attempting to keep the fight ranged, and continued to send bursts of flame at his opponent, the sword in his hand forgotten. But Marth always deflected it and rushed in.
Finally, in one fluid motion, the king swept the boy's feet out from beneath him, knocking him to the floor and striking the weapon from him. It clattered out of his reach. The boy glared up at him, still ready to fight. Marth could see him planning his next move, but the fight was over.
The boy thought otherwise, and while Marth sheathed his own weapon, he shot flames into his adversary's face and made an attempt at retrieving the fallen blade. The king was too quick for him. He simultaneously shielded himself from the flame and cuffed the fire user to the floor beneath bands of ice.
"The duel is mine." He smiled down at his captive who was wide-eyed and dumbfounded and straining his wrists and ankles against their new shackles. The surrounding Altean knights had a few laughs and soon returned to their own sparring.
Marth gathered the boy's blade and returned it to its rightful place along the wall, retrieving a small dagger as he did so. He returned to the boy and knelt beside him.
"Let me teach you how to defeat me properly." The young king removed the bands of ice and offered the boy a friendly hand. The boy's lips were parted in confusion and indecision. He looked up into the king's smiling eyes, disbelief in his own, and cautiously took the offered arm.
Marth heaved him to his feet, excitement spreading through him. He had done it; he had secured the fire user. He could barely contain the grin threatening to explode from his lips.
"Come, I'll show you to your room and then we'll get you cleaned up." The boy didn't respond, but seemed enthralled by this unbridled display of hospitality.
Marth led him silently through the castle's hallways to an empty room close to his own. It had a secure lock and its own private bath. The young king didn't want to overwhelm his new guest by subjecting him to the knights' baths near the armory. After the boy's display, he wasn't sure how his army would receive him.
The two boys passed through a door beside the wardrobe into a small antechamber furnished only with a small pool of water and a rack for soaps and towels.
Without a word, the boy stripped out of his ragged tunic and descended the small stairwell into the cool water. He began to shiver almost immediately and Marth decided that now was as good a time as any to begin their training.
"The Lowell castle is always cold, especially in unused rooms like this one. Fortunately for you, there is a fire using technique that can remedy it." Marth explained to the boy how to focus only the barest wisps of energy inside of him and to emanate them, not as flame, but just as heat. He was quick to pick it up and in moments, the water was a pleasant temperature. The boy gave him an open, easy smile and for the first time, Marth saw him as more than just a fire user.
"What is your name?" The boy looked up from scrubbing his body clean, pausing to wonder at the king and his motives. He finally answered.
"Roy."
"Just Roy?" The boy seemed uncomfortable and hard-pressed to answer the question.
"Just Roy."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen, I think." Roy went back to scrubbing off the sweat and dirt.
"Why did you steal from here?" The city's crime rates were low because its occupants could always rely on the Lowells in a time of hardship. This was the question Marth was the most interested in.
The boy halted his attentions to his own body again, searching for the right words.
"My father is dead. My mother has fallen ill. I couldn't think of anything else to do." He quickly started on washing his dirty red hair, as if hoping to put an end to the subject. It was too obvious that the boy wasn't telling him everything, but Marth decided that he had undergone enough this day and didn't pursue the matter.
Once Roy was clean, Marth could see that in fact his hair was a soft, unruly, cherry red and his skin was a faded gold. He thought that with a few square meals and little bit of training, the boy would soon acquire a healthy glow.
Marth handed him a towel as he climbed out of the bath, taking a step back as Roy shook the water droplets from his hair.
"Will your mother be alright without you?" Roy watched him curiously, but continued drying himself, waiting for explanation. "The castle's infirmary employs first class plant users and your mother will be well cared for, but if you can be spared, I think you should rest before we go into the city."
Roy dropped his wet towel over the rack. "She should be fine for tonight."
"Tomorrow morning, then." So Marth gave him a night shirt and a pair of drawstring pants to sleep in.
"One last thing." The ice user pulled out the dagger he had taken from the armory and handed it to Roy with a chain fashioned to its uniquely designed sheath; this dagger could only be released with a downward motion. "Keep this with you, always, but only use it if your life is in danger."
Roy slung the dagger around his neck, tucked it away beneath his night shirt and gave Marth a tentative look of gratitude. The young king nodded and told him to lock the door behind him.
As soon as the king had gone, Roy went into the private bath and traded his fresh pajamas for his street clothes. He decided to keep the gift from the king. When he finished changing, he quietly opened the bedroom door and checked the hall for sentinels. There were none.
Marth was too naïve.
The castle had been easy to get into and it would probably be easier to get out of. Roy paused in the middle of the hallway, considered sneaking into the king's bedroom, but decided against it. It was too risky; he didn't know where the Marth's room was and even if he found it, Roy didn't stand a chance at overpowering him.
He decided to cut his losses and head back to the safehouse.