Take two. Shout out to ShabalbaIggy, Almond28, Kiyomi Kamida and CuriousDreamWeaver; feedback always makes me grin insanely. And feel very happy, so thanks.

Hope this stays uncliched and unpredictable.

And you, you know exactly who you are. You have an e-mail awaiting you, my friend.

And, onwards.

Chapter 2: A Kind of Justice

In a training room, Marth swung his falchion through his first sequence, imagining every enemy had blue spikes and a scarf to keep them out of his eyes. His mind was focused on one thing: get this obsession out of my system, as soon as possible! The veteran fighters all knew about Zelda's trick. Therefore, the only ones who wouldn't know Shiek were the new fighters.

Marth had only had close contact with one new fighter. "Argh!" He yelled in annoyance, wishing he could get the mercenary out of his mind. His falchion stabbed sharply at the next 'opponent', shrieking through the air.

Marth drew his sequence to a close as he heard the door open. It had to be fate, he realised, with a feeling akin to dread in his stomach. The world is out to get me… He gave the swordsman his best glare, hoping the merc. would take the hint and leave again.

No such luck. Marth sighed, prepared to ignore the man, when-

"Hard time, Princess?"

That got his attention. Glare completely forgotten, Marth stared at Ike, shocked beyond words.

"Just, you look pretty exhausted. I wondered if you're unused to all the physical labour with the way you prefer simply twirling that blade around."

The two men locked gazes, one scowling, the other smirking. Then, Marth had a wicked idea. He played to the man's expectations in the battle, right? And now? Turnabout could be so much fun.

Ike was slightly thrown when Marth's face morphed from anger to a sweet smile with the speed of a switch clicking on.

"Oh, it's so kind of you to care!" the Prince gushed, sheathing his sword and clasping his hands to his chest. "I hope this means you weren't too upset with me because of earlier! I didn't mean to hurt your arm-" he broke off, giving Ike's body a once-over glance "-I hope it's alright! And your leg, they fixed that up, didn't they? I can't see any blood, but you never know with these doctors!"

"What..?" Ike trailed off, trying to get a word in. What happened to the icy bastard from earlier? Confusion didn't quite cover it.

"Oh, I suppose you want to practise some more? You must, after your defeat earlier!" Marth heard Ike growl, and laughed internally, knowing he'd never snap at someone acting so… girly. At any other time, Marth would be mortified, but it was all for a good cause.

"Here, I'll just let you have the room now! Bye, have a good session!" Marth waved to the merc., who didn't even twitch. He was frozen in shock. Marth slammed the door behind him, act over. He recalled Ike's look at the end, and that was all it took for him to dissolve into laughter.

Ike heard the laughter through the door, and blinked rapidly, wondering what was going on. Then, the pieces clicked. He ran back out into the corridor, in time to see a cloak fluttering around the corner.

"I'll get you back for that, Princess!" he yelled. "Just wait!"

He returned to the training room plotting and under the questioning, somewhat amused stares of Mario, Red and Pit.

-*-

Peach looked up, concerned. Marth was laughing hysterically, which never boded well. The Prince had a sneak streak a mile wide and then some. Especially since he termed it, Justice.

"Marth?" she asked warily.

"Give me five more minutes," he gasped. "Just long enough to record that in my memory forever." Peach nodded silently.

Five minutes later, the manic laughter subsided into shuddering gasps, then the occasional giggle. "I'm sorry," Marth said, "but that was too brilliant not to savour properly."

"But what did you do?" Peach asked, incredulous.

"Right. There's this mercenary from my world, different city though. We fought this morning, I won, but he dismissed me like everybody else does. For a weak girl who can't lift a stick let alone a sword. So, rather than convince him otherwise, I… played to his expectations!" Marth paused dramatically.

"I'll ask again. What did you do?" Thank the toadstool for her everlasting patience.

"He called me… something I'd rather not repeat, to be honest." Marth blushed even as he tried not to growl when he remembered the man's impudence. "Anyway, I decided, in return, to be nice to him. Scarily nice."

"That doesn't seem too bad?" Peach offered hesitantly.

There were rumours of much worse things happening, courtesy of an 'unknown' culprit. Who nobody 'ever' suspected.

Said culprit smirked. "I'm only just getting started, Princess. Ike won't know what hit him!"

Finally, something! "Ike?" Peach echoed. "Why Ike? He didn't seem too bad earlier, just a bit overwhelmed by being around so many people."

"Have you even met the man?" Marth countered. "He's a rude, crass, ignorant, idiotic excuse for a human being!"

"I think you mistakenly read him and then list those mistakes as perceived 'faults'." Peach replied.

"Excuse me?" It was Marth's turn to be incredulous.

"He can get deep in thought, even in a crowd, making him appear absent, ergo slightly idiotic. But honestly, how often have you caught him acting like… well, like Link? His 'ignorance' stems from his obviously being brought up in an entirely different class to most of us- probably nobody ever taught him the things you live and breathe. As for rude and crass… well, he was enough of a gentleman to me when I saw him." Peach conveniently left out that he had knocked her over first. "I think you have it out for him, and he acts accordingly."

"He's judgemental. He didn't give me a chance, even in his mind." And that was what was really bugging him. Ike had been taken in by the surface appearance. Marth fell silent, depressed that even fresh fighters, unexposed to the jokes of previous tournaments, would never respect his skills.

"He's human, Marth, like you pointed out. You need to give him a chance." Peach bit back a laugh. "Besides, it was a blow to his pride, being beaten by such a girly fighter. I'm sure he'll not make the same mistake again!"

She shrieked as Marth leapt at her, tickling madly. Mainc laughter was again heard from the living room, scaring those who walked past.

-*-

Marth's season, after a promising start, continued to go well. He beat every one of his opponents, except for Bowser, and that was due to foul play; he was sure the stage was only meant to change three times. The overgrown lizard must have bribed someone.

Ike found himself rising through the ranks as a respected fighter, as he scored his first, second, third, fourth and fifth win. He had risen through the ranks to ninth, and was slightly happier with that. He'd also been discretely observing the Altean Prince, and found out some interesting things, that explained a lot.

Marth had been close friends with his cousin, Roy. After writing to his cousin, and receiving the reply, Say hi, good luck and health to Marth for me! he concluded it must have been a very strong friendship: Ike knew firsthand how much of a lousy correspondent his cousin was, unless the person was incredibly important to the redhead.

Marth had hesitated during their fight, and Ike had realised why. He and his cousin sounded very similar, despite rarely seeing each other and being brought up in a merc. camp and a palace respectively. He'd spoken for the first time in Marth's hearing, during the match. Momentary shock on the close friend's face. Mystery explained.

It also meant he had an excuse to talk to the Prince again. He'd been avoiding him since the episode in the training room. It had been a week now, and Ike was ready to strike back.

He couldn't wait for Marth to come in for training today.

-*-

Everything was set. Marth had three choices of sparring partner: Kirby, DK, or himself. Ike couldn't believe the Prince would choose either of the other two over him, seeing as he was Marth's best chance at improving his sword skills. Then he'd also 'misplaced' the notice that said it was him occupying this particular room, so the Prince wouldn't even know he was in there. The Prince would be forced to talk to him.

Ike paced the training room while he waited. It was the one day of the week where no matches were taking place, and he had planned to take full advantage. Feeling restless, he moved Ragnell from his shoulder and swung the sword in front of him, practising his slicing blows. He had moved onto interspersed kicks by the time the door finally opened.

"Poyo!"

Ike blinked. That wasn't Marth. "Have you seen the Princess?" he asked.

Kirby's face expressed regret. Ike guessed that meant no.

"Damn. Now I need to change the plan."

"Poyo?"

Wait a minute. Ike halted, and asked Kirby again, "Have you seen Marth?"

The puffball smiled and indicated the training room opposite with his arm. Ike nodded his thanks and left Kirby to it. Kirby blinked, shrugged, and began to practise his moves again. Now Ike had gone, it made no difference that he'd given up his room when the Prince politely requested that he do so.

Ike needed to be more subtle. Or, at least, work his plan so Marth would want to question (and in all likelihood, maim, torture and kill) him.

He reached his dorm and sat down on the bunk. What to do? His glance fell on the desk, with Roy's letter still lying open, and the idea clicked.

-*-

Marth was in a good mood. He'd had a good training session, despite that… despite his attempts to pull something. The fact that he'd thwarted the plan made his mood even better. He entered his room, where a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye. It looked rumpled, like it had been slid under the door.

It was addressed to him, but Marth didn't recognise the handwriting. He unfolded the sheet, curious as to who had tried to reach him.

Hey Princess!

Just wanted to pass on the message (so don't kill the messenger, yeah?)

I think the gist was hi, good luck, and health.

Well done in the tournament. Your appearance certainly is deceiving.

(Do you really need me to sign this?)

(-Just in case I severely overestimated your intelligence)

Ike

P.S. the message was from Roy. Did I mention that earlier?

Marth crumpled the note in his hand. He could see Ike's ploy. He just wanted another fight. Marth was a Prince; he couldn't rise to the mercenary's games. He wouldn't.

He uncrumpled the note and re-read it.

How did Ike know Roy well enough to keep in touch with him?

Marth shoved the note into a pocket and left to seek his answers, plot or no plot. His falchion was 'conveniently' still in his sheath, should Ike feel disinclined to give information. It was almost a shame that he insists on being an insufferable jerk, Marth thought off-hand. But for that, I think I'd be laughing.

-*-

Ike heard the footsteps in the corridor. Five. Four. Three. Tw-

The door burst open.

"Damn it! I always underestimate your speed!" Ike blurted out, looking mortified with the strange look Marth was giving him. "Forgive me… Princess," he continued smoothly, trying to regain control of the situation. "Do you want something?" He warily eyed Marth's right hand, which was resting lightly on his sword handle. Why had he left Ragnell across the room again?

"How do you know the General?" Marth went straight to business.

"I think he's Roy to friends and family, Princess." Ike replied.

"Answer the question. Please," Marth added for good measure.

"Now which question would that be?"

Marth growled and began to draw his falchion. Ike backtracked quickly.

"Since you ask so prettily… Roy is my cousin, through my father's line." He sighed in relief when the falchion went back into the sheath.

"Was that really so difficult?" Marth asked condescendingly.

"Bye, Princess," Ike turned away, then realised that since it was his room, he had nowhere to go. He cursed.

"You sound just like him when you say that," the Prince murmured. His eyes widened as he realised he had spoken aloud.

Ike smiled for the first time in Marth's presence, bad mood forgotten. "I guessed that was what caused you to hesitate in battle." He realised this was the perfect opening to move the conversation along. "I was serious with what I wrote, by the way. Your appearance is deceiving; you're a great fighter."

Marth's face clearly showed his disbelief, until Ike continued, "Had to be, to defeat me." That sounded more normal, coming from the merc.'s mouth. "But I don't see why you get so worked up about it. If someone underestimates you, it's their problem. Literally, in this case, when you face them on the platform." Ike thought this was the most he'd ever said in his life. The emotional stuff was much more difficult than girls made it seem. "Basically… use all that you've got to your advantage, especially with that twirler of a sword."

Despite the slur on his weapon, Marth was heartened by the words. "Thank you." He spoke so quietly, he thought Ike might not have heard him. "Thank you." He repeated, louder. Maybe Peach was right… if he gave Ike a chance, maybe he'd turn out to be a nice guy.

Ike smiled again, all seriousness lost. "You're welcome, Princess."

Maybe not. Marth growled and stomped from the room.

-*-

The next day, the Smasher household looked on in disbelief as Ike turned up to breakfast with minutes to spare. "It wouldn't come out!" He moaned, grabbing a piece of toast before everything was taken away.

"Ike? What happened?" Peach asked. She had a vague idea, but…

"Someone switched the shower bottles! I didn't realise until I looked in the mirror, and it wouldn't come out!" Ike now sported a very bright, very green hairstyle. It clashed horribly with his armour.

When he arrived to fight that day, he got a raised eyebrow from Pit, his opponent. "I'll admit it's distracting, but that's not going to save you!" he chirped.

Ike sighed, and raised his sword to 'ready'. "Just get this over with," he muttered.

The duel went down in Smash Brother's history as the fastest the angel had ever been defeated.

-*-

Two days later (Ike's hair was still green), it was Marth who had only five minutes left to grab breakfast. Ike smirked. He knew what was going on.

Marth was having his own type of panic attack, dosed liberally with angry explosion. He waited until the last possible instant to appear for the first meal of the day, when the fewest number of people would be present. But he hadn't left yet. Bastard.

Never mind that Marth had started the whole thing.

He entered the dining hall with his head held high. He heard some sniggers, but ignored them. There were only two things he was focused on: breakfast, and Ike. After wolfing down some sort of pastry, he stepped behind the mercenary's chair. "Good morning, Ike," he began.

"Good morning, Prince Marth." Ike was equally cordial. Would an outsider notice the anger, and mirth in the speakers' tones?

"I thank you for your… direct advice in my wardrobe choices." Marth bit out. He was struggling to resist decking the swordsman (never mind that Ike probably wouldn't notice he'd been hit).

"You're welcome… Prince Marth. Or is it really princess now?"

Marth stepped back as Ike stood up. "I'll see you around, Princess," he said, before leaving.

No. Marth was not letting Ike have the last word in this. He kicked the chair Ike had just vacated to collide with the back of his legs. He laughed as the man fell, cursing the parents and ancestors of "high-strung, foul-playing, shampoo-switching princes" as he did so.

"Have a good day, Ike," Marth said sweetly, before leaving in his recently dyed armour. His cloak and tunic were now a fetching shade of pink.

-*-