Disclaimer(s): I do not own Marth or Roy, or any other SSBB/Fire Emblem names (I'll try and specify as they pop up…); those all belong to Nintendo. I do, however, own Art the Archer and General Rein. This takes place in the Fire Emblem universe, but it's easy to catch on even if you've never played that game. I've placed it in the SSBB category because in the Fire Emblem category, Marth and Roy don't know each other and I think SSBB fans will find this story more entertaining than FE people (no offense to them). I hope you enjoy.

Some things to know so you don't get confused:

Marth is the prince of Altea. Roy is the youngest general in Marth's army. These two don't get along, but they respect each other (sort of…).

Art (one of my OCs) is a young woman (I haven't decided exactly how old they all are) who is currently training under General Roy's command, but their styles aren't compatible with each other, so she isn't learning much. She vaguely knows Prince Marth, but up until this point they have barely spoken.

Capiche? Let me know if anything else needs explaining. :) I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

Art ran out of the fencing room, brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes. She had been practicing all day and STILL her instructor, General Roy, continued to run her though the swordplay techniques. If one wanted to become an archer, then why did they need to learn how to parry?

Besides, her slim figure wasn't meant for swordplay. She simply didn't have the brawn to back up her quick strokes.

She stopped by the armory and picked up her bow, Windfeather. Its light weight felt soothing in her hand. The wood was so worn that it was smooth. Her quiver was already around her shoulders. Some shooting would soothe her mind and make it easier for her to concentrate, should the need for concentration arise.

Art stepped out onto the grass of the courtyard. The targets were on the other side. The red epicenter was nearly impossible to see at this distance, but that didn't matter. She pulled out an arrow confidently, nocking it against the bowstring.

She let it fly. It cut through the air before firmly embedding itself into the middle of the tiny red circle.

"That was an impressive shot," a quiet, calm voice said behind her.

She whirled around, biting back a yelp.

A familiar adolescent stood before her. He was quite a few inches taller, and clothed in spectacular blue fabrics with the crown of Altea catching the sunlight. He would have been very impressive and intimidating, had it not been for the softness of his small smile or the boyish light that lingered in his cobalt eyes.

"Your Highness!" Art breathed. "Don't startle me like that! I could have accidentally shot someone!"

He laughed lightly; a musical sound that carried through the entire castle. "You, miss? Not likely. I don't think I can recall ever seeing someone so young with such keen eyes and such a light touch as yourself."

"If my eyes are so keen why can't I block a stab?" Art questioned, still in a foul mood.

"Because you are a girl," Prince Marth said simply.

Art opened her mouth to protest, but his eyes flared, effectively cutting her off.

"Not for the reasons you think," he said. "Girls were never meant to 'block stabs.' They were meant to cut people with sharp words, not steel."

"So you think I should become a diplomat?" Art snapped, pulling out a second arrow and shooting another perfect shot.

Marth's hand gently closed around her wrist, pulling it away from the quiver. "Perhaps."

Art was surprised by the gesture. The prince had always remained carefully neutral around her, often avoiding touch whenever possible.

"Highness…?" she asked, waiting for him to let go of her hand. "What are you…?"

He released her wrist, and Art made sure to avoid eye contact, averting her fiery green eyes to the ground and inwardly cursing herself for blushing.

"It's funny," the prince sighed. "You are almost as old as I…"

"Two years younger," Art corrected before she could stop herself.

The side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "As you say. Two years older. And yet your aim is far better than mine."

"Well…I suppose," Art frowned. Then she extended her bow to Marth hesitantly. "But do you know for sure?"

He looked startled by her gesture, but then he took the bow, his slim fingers wrapping around its frame.

"Windfeather," he murmured quietly. Art was surprised; she didn't think he would know the name.

"May I?" he asked. Art was jerked out of her contemplation to see the prince looking at her expectantly. She hastily handed him an arrow, feeling her face flush again.

He nocked the arrow hesitantly, and then pulled it up to shoot several times, only to release tension from the sting to adjust something. It took Art a moment to realize that she had never actually seen Marth display any interest in archery. The only times she saw him other than the rare times when he sought her out, as he obviously had done now, he was either reading, fencing, or conversing with some of the higher-ups of society.

"You have shot a bow and arrow before, right…?" she questioned a little nervously.

"Yes." He smiled briefly and the tension that she had glimpsed disappeared. He continued, saying, "It would really be a pity if I accidentally injured someone while using your bow." He adjusted his aim again, then exhaled sharply just as he released the arrow. It flew across the courtyard and buried itself below hers, just outside the red circle.

"There, you see?" he said pointedly. "You are obviously the better shot."

Art frowned. "You missed on purpose," she accused. She considered herself something of an expert with the bow, but even a novice could tell that when Marth had exhaled, his aim had been botched.

"I did no such thing," Marth sighed wearily as he passed her the bow back. "And you would do well to remember who I am, and that it is probably not in your best interest to accuse me of something that I said I did not do. Whose word do you think will hold up better?"

Art repressed the urge to moan. It was easy to see at times why Marth was sometimes jokingly called the 'ice-prince.' She glared at him pointedly. She may not have the authority to say what she was thinking, but she could make sure that the prince knew anyway.

"Did you have a reason for interrupting my training?" she asked coldly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." His voice was cool. Art instantly regretted making him like this. He had started off as kind as she had ever seen him, but the ice-prince was definitely back.

"Although you seemed to be getting along fine with the bow on your own," Marth continued, a slightly ironic tone in his voice, "I couldn't help noticing your pathetic attempts to parry in the training room with your trainer, General Roy."

Art bit back the comment that sprung to her tongue. If it was anyone but the man standing before her…

"And thus it occurred to me that perhaps you were not being taught in the correct way," he went on smoothly. "And so I asked myself, 'what would happen if she was to be trained in the right way?'"

"And what did you answer yourself?" Art asked, making sure to convey as much of her frustrated emotion into this simple question as possible.

"The thought occurred to me that if you were properly trained, then I would have a very capable soldier on my hands. One who excelled at both swordplay and archery; a valuable combination."

"Please, Your Highness, get to the point," Art urged. "I have other things that need doing today."

"As do I," Marth snapped icily. "I was simply wondering if you would consider a different method of training, with a somewhat more…well suited tutor. Someone who I believe fights in the same style as yourself."

"What?" Art glanced up at him curiously. "But I'm already squiring under General Roy. Wouldn't he be upset if I were transferred out of his care?"

"You forget your place," Marth said coolly. It sounded like he had just stopped himself from saying 'again.' "If I command it, it shall be done."

"My apologies," Art muttered grumpily, then remembered to tack on a "Highness," at the last moment.

Marth shrugged, showing that he accepted the apology. "I was merely thinking that my fighting style might be more suited to your own, and that it might be more productive if I attempted to train you. It would be an exercise for both of us."

Art's hands flew to her mouth. "What are you saying?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Marth asked a little testily. "I would like to try training you myself, and see if that improves your talent at all."

Art's face paled. The prince had never offered anything like this to anyone. Art had been grateful when she had been assigned to General Roy as a squire, even though they were less than a year apart in age. But soon she had found that the General's fighting style relied on strength and confidence; two things that Art was not good a displaying. In truth, she had been a little concerned recently that Roy was eventually going to give up on her, and now the prince of Altea was offering her another chance.

"It's a simple yes or not question, Art," Marth pointed out.

"Well, yes. Of course yes…" Art said dazedly.

"Then it is settled," the prince said. "Meet me tomorrow, here in the courtyard, at dawn. I shall speak to General Roy and arrange your absence." He turned to leave, but paused after taking a few steps.

"Highness?" Art asked, fiddling anxiously with the nocking point on her bow.

Marth shot her a smile. "Meet me here tomorrow," he repeated, and then turned around and walked out of the courtyard, the sun shining off of his circlet and his blue hair.

Don't fret, Roy-fans. He'll pop up in the next chapter. No worries. ;)

This is going to be a fairly long story, and I already have the next few chapters written. If people express an interest, I'll be able to update pretty quickly. But I won't know if you like it or not if you don't review, so please press the magic blue button and tell me what you think. :)