All is quiet in my immediate surroundings. Well, at least, it would seem that way if you weren't listening closely enough. If you were, you would hear a little more than you previously thought.

"A little" is the operative word.

My heartbeat, which might have usually matched in normal circumstances, exceeds the pace set by the steadily beeping heart monitor beside the bed. That, and the sound of Marth's laboured breathing, are the only sounds to be heard in the almost empty hospital room.

They had said to me that it's unlikely that Marth would ever fully recover from the amount of damage that had been done to him that day, and looking at his sorry condition now, I almost believe it. His once perfect and practically blemish-free body has been scratched, slashed, hacked, bruised and burned beyond recognition, and bleached-white bandages cover nearly every square inch of his being.

What had happened that day?

He had been forced to keep fighting, even when it was clear that he couldn't physically take any more.

I make sure that there's no-one immediately outside the room - after all, there weren't likely to be many visitors at this hour of night - before I walk over to Marth's bed, and sit in the chair beside it.

Leaning over to gently stroke his luxuriant blue hair, I whisper, my voice quivering slightly, "Marth? It doesn't matter if you can't hear me right now, but there's just a few things that you need to hear from me before - if - you go."

I pause. Even for a tough cookie like me, continuing seems to be the most difficult thing for me to do right now.

"Marth, ignore all the bad things other people may have said about you in the past. They may have said that you were too feminine, or weak, or vain, or that you simply weren't tough enough to be a qualified smasher. You know what? They were wrong. I never, even for one second, believed them. Never. You were just being yourself, and obviously everyone was much too ignorant to see that. But they can all go to hell. Not one of them saw the nice, caring, brave, strong hero of a prince that I saw in you. You're a true fighter, Marth dear. Be strong. For me."

Again, I pause. The tears have started now, and I let them fall, where I watch them drip onto the cold, sterile floor.

It takes a great effort to say the next part, but I know I have to. In case... in case the... unthinkable happened.

"Marth, I love you."

My last words are punctuated by a choked sob, as the tears in my eyes grow stronger.

Through the blurriness of my tears, I vaguely register the "Get Well Soon" cards on the bedside table beside me - judging by the signatures, it seemed that nearly everyone, ranging from Ike and Link to Zelda and Mario - had been sending in their well-wishes to Marth.

But they seem so out of place here, in the cold well of despair that is this hospital room.

No amount of cards would take away the damage that had been done, or restore Marth's life to what it had been.

No amount of cards would ever be able to lessen my burden of sorrow.