Hi there, it's been awhile hasn't it?! So, sorry 'bout that I'll try to be better, thanks to those who Favorited and Followed! It's really encouraging, but special shout out to those who took the time to review, thank you so much, whenever I read a new review I smile so much my face hurts! So Finally, here's chapter two! Enjoy!


Chapter 2: A Fool's Love

Wedding bliss seemed to engulf the city surrounding the castle. The news of the young princess' engagement reached far and wide. The day for Princess Elice's fiancé to arrive in Altea finally arrived. Marth watched his sister fidget with excitement; she was looking forward to seeing him again. Once Elice had announced her engagement Marth decided to look for information on the man that wanted his sister's hand. It learned that he was from country more north than Marth himself had traveled and that the man was the second born son. The prince hoped that Elice's suitor was not just marrying her for power.

When he rode up on his horse Marth had a feeling of unease well in his chest. His hair was to his shoulders and was shiny black and matched the horse he was riding. Marth couldn't put his finger on it but this man didn't sit well with him. He dismounted his horse with a graceful leap and kneeled in front of Elice asking for her hand; which she gladly provided. He kissed it gently and listened to her sigh of contentment.

"Elice, I'm so very glad to be reunited with you after those many lonely days," he purred to her with a smooth voice. He hated him. Marth had never hated anyone so much before. This brute was smooth talking his sister. It took all he had not to slap that hand away from his sister. "You must Prince Marth, my beloved brides little brother," the man said offering his hand to Marth. "I'm Clinton, I hope we can get along." Marth reached out and firmly took the man's hand in his; truly hoping his strong grip was hurting him. He just called him little, Marth fumed.

"Yes, I hope we will get along, please take care of my sister," Marth said in a cool polite tone and continued to try to crush Clinton's hand in his own.

"That's quite the grip you have there," Clinton laughed as they both pulled their hands away. Marth forced himself to laugh along with the olive skinned man. He could feel Elice staring at him with slit eyes.

"Oh Clinton I'll have the servants show you to your room, I'll be with you in just a moment!" Elice said softly and batted her eyelashes.

"I will be seeing you shortly then," Clinton bowed and followed the maid into the castle.

As soon as he was out of sight Elice hissed, "Behave yourself Marth! You're acting like a selfish child!"

"I don't like him," Marth grumbled folding his arms together and leaning his weight to one of his legs.

"Good thing you're not marrying him!" Elice howled at him and stormed off into the castle. Marth stood there in shock. His sister had never yelled at him before, she always kept a level head even when he was acting childish. After what could have been hours Marth made his way into the castle and went directly to the study. He locked the door and trudged into the middle of the room and unceremoniously plopped on to the fur covered floor. He felt like for the first time his sister had rejected him.

Marth slowly reached for a book on the desk and pulled it towards him. Most of the pages were snow white, but a few had sketches of a young man. Marth brushed his fingers over the drawings and smiled to himself a little, his nameless mercenary. His nameless mercenary. He drew what he could remember of the tall man in this book, in hopes of seeing him again. Though a few things were missing from the drawings, the shape of his face always seemed off and he couldn't remember what his nose looked like, or how far his eyes were from each other. He was starting to forget. He didn't want to forget. Soundless sobs started to wrack the prince body as he clung to the book and lied on the soft ground. The tears rolled down his face making his cheeks sticky and his lips salty.

"Lord Marth, your sister would like you to come dine with her and Lord Clinton," someone, no, Cain called through the door.

"Please tell them I respectfully decline the invitation, I'm not feeling well," Marth replied in a muffled tone. He sniffled a little waiting for Cain to move away from the door to rely his message.

"L-lord Marth, are you okay? Are you sick, do you need a doctor?" Cain called out in an almost frantic voice.

"I-I'm fine, just a little under the weather, I don't require a doctor," Marth replied in a hushed voice.

"Lord Marth, please open the door," Cain requested bluntly.

"I'm fine Cain, please just go tell my sister," Marth snapped. He was irritated now, he wanted to be alone. He didn't want Cain pestering him with trivial matters. He could hear the other hesitating outside the door, the way the tall man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was trying figure out how answer. It was clear that his worry for the prince had grown tremendously after he had returned from the tournament.

"Lord Marth," Cain called after a long pause. "You do know that we, your rag tag group of soldiers, will always follow you. You know that right?" Marth let a small soft smile grace his lips and wiped the sticky tears from his cheeks.

He looked at the door and hoarsely mumbled, "Of course I do, but there are some things that cannot be solved with an army."

"We aren't just your army, Lord Marth. We consider you family," Cain said in a strained tone. Marth looked at the door and slowly stood. He unlocked the rusted handle and opened it to see a fiercely blushing Cain. His hands were balled into tight fist and he had turned his head to the side so he wouldn't have to make direct eye contact with the prince. "You can trust us with anything," he mumbled, still not making eye contact.

"Thank you Cain, I feel as if that is exactly what I needed to hear," Marth sighed softly and touched Cain's arm reassuringly. Cain slowly turned his head to look at Marth; he was clearly shocked by the appearance of his prince. His eyes puffy with tears and cheeks reddened, he was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and shifting uncomfortably under Cain's gaze.

"L-lord Marth, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?" Cain shot out his question, uncertain on how to comfort his young lord.

"It is not anything of great concern," Marth cringed as he spoke the words. Of course it was great concern; for God's sake he was trying to remember the name and face of his love. Trying and failing to remember. A great wave of depression washed over Marth as he bleakly looked at the floor trying to put on a smile to reassure Cain. The smile on his face was sad and painful, not a hint of joy in it. It would be impossible to put a happy face on when he was beginning to see how no matter how hard he tried, how hard he looked, how much he believed and how much he loved the man in his memories, he would never find him. His search would always be fruitless, his efforts always wasted and his love meaningless. "Ah, Cain, I'm truly unwell at this moment, if you would please excuse me, I think I'll retire to my room to rest," Marth whispered slowly brushing past Cain, he still clutched the book full of drawings in his arms, unable to let it go.

When he reached his room, he noticed a fire had been ignited and cast a warm, cheery glow about the room. It was mocking him, at that moment he was half tempted to extinguish the fire and sleep in the cold, at least then the room would reflect his mind. He dismissed it the thought quickly, it would do him no good to be miserable and sick in bed.

Unconsciously he shuffled towards the fire until he stood right in front of it, feeling the burn of warmth against his cold skin. He flexed his fingers around the sides of the sketch book. What good would these pictures do? What was the point anymore? He would never find his mercenary. He would never know that love again. He was a fool, a stupid, ignorant, blind fool. Love was a feeling of passing interest and no one person could ever be truly meant for another. A rage started to build up within Marth. How had he let himself believe that he had ever had a chance of reuniting with… with, his…fling? The rage turned into a self-loathing, it was his own damn fault. His own fault he believed that the man had been his fated match, his destined love. He had spent, no, not spent, wasted so much time worrying over a man he couldn't even remember.

He flipped through the sketches he had drawn and laughed bitterly to himself. The man he had spent so much time looking for, probably didn't even give a shit about where he was. He probably found someone new to warm his bed; someone far prettier and without the emotional baggage. He was just an in-between, someone to fulfill that man's needs while he searched for what he really wanted. Just a notch in his bedpost.

Furious tears fell down his face, blinding him. How idiotic could he have been, to actually believe that he and this man would ever meet again? With those thoughts whirling around his mind Marth felt his heart ache, and felt his body slowly turn numb and cold. He assured himself that he would never be a fool again, he would never love again. People were meant to be kept at an arms distance, where they could not harm him.

He gripped the book between his hands and stared at it. All his devotion, love and belief in the mercenary were in that book. A book of a fool. He hurled the leather book towards his fire place. It landed amongst the golden flames. The licks of fire began to devour the book as the edges burned, became black and then denigrated. Marth watched with a cold smile plastered unnaturally across his face, his blood felt like poison that was slowly eating him alive.

Then suddenly a shot of panic bolted through him. He found himself on his knees, hands in the inferno trying his hardest to salvage what was left of the book. His hands smarted as the fire licked around them, his skin felt tight and cracked as crimson blood flowed from his hands and onto the wood of the fire. He managed to pull his hands from the flames with the smoldering book seized between them. His mangled hands were unrecognizable, the skin was burned away, bleeding and large blisters formed all over them. Marth finally felt the pain and whimpered in distress. He collapsed next to the fire, shivering in agony. He had saved the book though, and once he realized that there was a surge of happiness that engulfed him.

With his consciousness fading and a dry throat he croaked quietly, "What a fool I am, what a fool you have made me… my sweet love… Ike."


Uhhh, sorry, it seemed like the best place to stop... I don't know when the next chapter is up, but I hope it's soon, I haven't started chapter three yet, so we shall see! I promise everything will be (mostly) happy soon! And maybe Ike will make an appearance soon (I seriously have no idea...)?! Once again please favorite, follow and most importantly review (it makes me super happy!)! Please tell me how I'm doing! I would love input! Well until next time! ~Shiro Mizuki!