Disclaimer: Characters and settings are copyright to Nintendo, save for Snake, who's Konami's man and Sonic, who is Sega's and hopefully won't be getting much of a part in this fic anyway.

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THE EULOGY

AND

THE UNSUNG HERO

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o-o-chapter 4 – the plastic smile-o-o

When educating her on the business that was royalty, her father used to say a princess' smile wasn't a feature – it was a product. One smile, he used to say, and people would feel they were at the heart of the universe. They'd remember how to hope and dream and most of all, forgive. When Archibald Toadstool asked for the second Smash Tournament to be held at Mushroom Kingdom, his influential daughter was the first thing Master Hand demanded as payment.

As far as they were concerned, Peach was a malleable piece of plastic, designed to pave the way to profit and riches. She had no right to intellect or depth. She was merely a beautiful figurehead, a glamorous, distracting painting on the facet of the Tournament and its host.

Marth Lowell never stood for it. Just once, he held her hands and swept away her thoughts with a smile devoid of cold metal and cogs; and like a big brother with his innate ability to protect his sister, he set her free.

-x-

I wake up in a cold sweat.

I cough at the strong smell of sandalwood and amber and cringe when the rough pillow scrapes at my cheeks. After a few goes, I manage to wrench my eyelids open. The back of my shirt is completely soaked.

In a bit of a daze, I rewind and sift through my hours asleep. I recall fretful turns in bed and blurred nightmares, but they are just the cover to a book whose insides I can't remember. More surprised than understanding of my fatigue, I heave myself out of bed, prompting a loud thud, and crawl over to the toilet to throw up.

"Oh Link," someone says in a loud whisper. I hear hasty footfalls, sense a light burning my eyes and although at this time I can hardly comprehend what is going on, the effect of a hand running up and down my back makes me gasp with relief. "Oh you poor dear," she murmurs. "You've settled into the team so perfectly that we've all forgotten you're from so far away."

I recognise the voice and the large blue eyes I force myself to find in the dark.

"Do you remember me?" she asks. "It's Peach. Come, I'll take you downstairs and make you a warm drink."

I stagger, weak at the knees and sore all over. Once or twice, I convulse and think I'm going to be sick again, but Peach makes no move to leave my side. She sets me down on the sofa and there is the audible sound of her plumping a pillow.

"Mewtwo can pick up on changes in brain activity," Peach explains. She's only in the kitchen, but it feels as though she's speaking from behind a wall. With semi-blind eyes and a barely functioning mind, I make out a giant, imposing figure by the bay window. "You're suffering from a bit of culture shock, and rightly so. It's not just technology that's foreign; it's everything, from the food you eat to the air you breathe. You must miss Hyrule. You must long for the small things that remind you of home and normality, and to suddenly discover you are at the mercy of this environment is surely terrifying."

A steaming drink floats up to my lips; the liquid burns my throat. "But it's going to be okay, Link," she murmurs. "Marth was exactly the same when he came over, and a few days later, he pulled through. I'm not supposed to talk about him." She giggles nervously at her disobedience and covers her mouth with her hand. "Shh now," she whispers, as I try to form some words. "You need to rest. I'll have a word with Samus. She's an expert at vengeance, bless her, but she does often forget to ask the crucial questions."

"I'll be all right," I attempt to say.

"Ssh. Not another word. Mewtwo, perhaps you could drop him into dreamless sleep?"

A shadow moves in my peripheral vision, and I wriggle in panic and horror. The last thing I see before I succumb to sleep is a monstrous set of violet eyes.

-x-

"Peach was here." Captain Falcon begins to pick up incriminating pieces of evidence in turn: a flowery teacup, two boxes with pink ribbons and a large cherry cake.

"Mewtwo was here too." Falco slams the fridge door shut and I start, stirring out of a nap. "All the milk's gone."

Samus shakes the newspaper so that the top folds over. "I had a word with them just before they left. They had to get back quickly because Master Hand needs them this morning. Peach wanted to draw my attention to the fact Link actually isn't feeling well. That's why you're making soup, Fox."

"Oh, that's what I'm making, is it?" He wobbles on the stool precariously, stirring with a ladle almost as tall as him. "You could have fooled me. Does gloopy soup cure culture shock?"

"I'm fine, I promise. I'm not homesick; merely adjusting," I croak, but Falco smacks a wing into my face, forcing me to lie back down on the sofa.

"I realise we have asked so much of you without consideration for your health or interests." Samus gets up and approaches the sofa cautiously. "I promised I'd tell you everything you want to know as soon as you qualified." She takes the two boxes Peach has left us and lifts the lids. "Well, these prototype uniforms confirm you've made it as a Smasher." Behind her, Fox and Falcon start to clap, but Samus cuts them off. "So, it's only fair I uphold my end of the bargain."

I fight off Falco and sit up. The prospect of no longer being the only blind member of the team is so heartening, my sickness might have ebbed completely. "Really?"

Samus nods. "We have a lot to get through, however. It's only four days until the start of the Tournament. We need to determine a moveset to present to Master Hand, confirm uniforms for general and team play, decide on Summertime's official ad, get you acquainted with your enemies and decide on a partner target." Samus rubs the back of her neck, a little perturbed by how much more work needs to be done. "Thankfully, by this evening, Peach and Mewtwo will be free. Therefore, upon their arrival at the hangar, we're going to head back to Hyrule tonight. Relax, Link," she adds, seeing my face, "it's not a one-way trip."

She circles the sofa and leans on its back and by doing this, she faces everyone in the team. "We're stopping at Hyrule, firstly to let Link pack his bags for the Tournament and secondly, to collect and transport the horse to the Tournament Grounds."

My head jerks up. "Is that all right? If it causes trouble—"

"It's no problem," says Falcon. "The Flyer can have one room converted into a comfy stable easily. I wager that horse is key to making you feel you're at home."

"Once we leave Hyrule, we'll make a detour." Samus rests her forearms on the back of the sofa and her head dips a little in what might be an act of self defence. "We'll visit Marth."

There is an edgy silence, where most eyes turn to me and back to Samus again. I suppose everyone is waiting for me to question this mysterious detour now that I have the certainty of hearing answers, but I can't seem to form a query. I know this is my chance to find out about the blue-haired swordsman whose name keeps slipping into conversations. Yet one look at Samus' broken stoicism, to see her eyeing the ceiling and chewing the corner of her lip, and my curiosity subsides. I am utterly convinced my voice will shatter her. So I stay silent, stay ignorant for a bit longer if that is the kinder route.

She rewards me with a grateful smile that lingers at the back of my mind like a restless ghost.

-x-

The hangar that houses the Falcon Flyer is a giant tunnel that exits out from Mushroom Kingdom to skim over an ocean. Its ceiling is marred with glaring strip lights and the Flyer's start up engines send currents of strong wind round the dusty floor.

Peach is already waiting when we arrive. She has three large suitcases with her (all an eye-watering shade of pink) and on seeing us, she runs over and pulls me into a back breaking hug.

"Oh gosh, you have no idea how long I have wanted to do that! The first time we met, we had to play ignorant and the second, you were too sick to remember me. Congratulations on your qualifying! I knew the moment I saw you in that reception, as soon as you turned round, you were going to pass with flying colours. You even look like Marth. Oh!" She covers her mouth with both hands as Falco shoots her a look, and she quickly amends, "I'm doing it again. Shh, forget I said anything. Captain, can you assist?"

She hauls her luggage over to the Flyer's rear entrance. "I promise you, these aren't just my things," she pants, pushing each case up the gangway for a horrified Falcon to collect. "I have Link's prototype uniforms inside. The ones I sent you are substandard. No, the one I have selected is perfect!" She picks up her skirts and runs to wheel me over like a display piece. "It's a simple green tunic, but I added chainmail underneath, with tantalising strips peeking out here—" she slaps my collarbone and I wince "—here—" now on my arm "—and here." She pokes my thigh and nods with satisfaction. "It oozes of modest heroism and refined but humble skill."

"Yeah, that's great and everything, but let's discuss fashion when we're actually in the Flyer and travelling," says Fox.

Peach saunters up the gangway; the others use the roof hatch. I follow in Peach's wake, and although I don't think a princess should be walking amongst the cargo, she isn't fazed at all.

"It must be difficult to have two conflicting roles," I comment.

"It is a little," she admits politely, "but when Samus announced what she wanted to do, I realised what good use I could be with my authority as Director. Besides, Samus needs Mewtwo at the core of the plan, so I hardly had a choice. That reminds me! You haven't met Mewtwo yet, have you?" She seizes my elbow and drags me down the full length of the Flyer until we reach the cockpit. Falco and Fox are at the table, both tapping their fingers impatiently. Before I can take note of the tenseness around Samus and Falcon's conversation, Peach wheels me to face a giant biped cat with his mouth clamped round a pint of milk. "Ta da! The Pokemon behind the voice. Link, this is Mewtwo."

"The pleasure's all mine." His mouth doesn't move, but his violet gaze finds me easily. The milk bottle, now nestled comfortably in a blue glow, floats into the kitchen sink. "I have only been fortunate enough to meet you using six malfunctioning computer monitors and a microphone of questionable quality."

"It's good to meet you." I hold out my hand, but Mewtwo just blinks.

"Mewtwo guided you through your interview using CCTV," Peach explains. "He patched into the Grounds' network in order to do this. Mewtwo is effectively the Grounds' security system, so as long as you're in sight, Mewtwo can always communicate with you."

"Which is fantastic, because telepathy is the only form of communication that can't be detected." Fox swivels round on his chair. "Sit down, Link, because Peach is going to explode if you don't let her start Fashion 101."

"Do not trivialise my role," says Peach, flicking open her case and taking out rather a lot of tunics. "Image is crucial in Smash Brothers. It's the social event of vanity and profit. As I said, the chainmail look is perfect for Link. The solitary traveller persona is not an unused concept, but it typically grabs the public's attention from the start. Precedents include Meta Knight and Samus over there. Now, Master Hand has expressed a particular interest in you being a projectile-based Smasher, so we will devise your moveset to adhere to this." She drops into a seat and Fox passes her a cup of tea.

"Drink?" Fox asks me.

"Just milk, if that's all right?"

A bottle, its lid already peeled back, skids across the table into my hands. Mewtwo takes three strides to stand at the table. Falcon and Samus join a few seconds after, and now every seat at the table is occupied.

"I'll explain the moveset, if that's okay." Falco catches everyone off guard with his temporary cooperation. "Your moveset is as its name dictates: it's your set of unique and predetermined moves for Smash battles. Smash matches are simulated; that way, the game pieces last longer. Each Smasher's moveset is determined by his sponsor, Master Hand and Peach. Luckily, that means we're two against one for swaying it to your favour. Consider each Smasher's moveset to be on a pentagonal chart spanning particular categories: speed, fall, jump, lag time, power and recovery."

"Yeah, if a pentagonal chart had six points," Falcon mutters, counting on his fingers. He nudges my elbow when he spots my difficulty in understanding. "Let it go over your head. All you need to know is that your moveset is in safe hands."

"The Tournament, however, might not be," says Samus. "Besides Link, Snake is the only other person who got in. He applied for the Tournament without a sponsor. When an applicant does this," she explains to me, "he's either a nobody or he has something to hide. Still, that Snake is the only other newcomer does not make him your friend, Link."

I try to disguise my happiness as a nod of understanding. The prospect of entering the Smash Tournament isn't nearly as unnerving when I know there will be someone else in the same situation.

"The Tournament is in the exact same format as last year." Fox stands up on his chair to pass me a diagram. "I'll try and explain it in a way that doesn't confuse you. Basically, the Tournament is split into three parts over the course of nine months. It opens next week – May – and finishes in February with the final. The first part is the Preliminaries. Falco would call it your dossing period. You can try out your moveset, experiment on various maps, enter side games for starter points and get to know the other Smashers. This is the best time to select your Smash partner. After the Preliminaries close, it's the Qualifying Round. This year, there are twenty-eight Smashers." Fox holds up a complicated work table with coloured boxes. "The Qualifying Round whittles down these twenty-eight into sixteen. We need you to be one of those sixteen."

Fox grins and sits back in his seat. "In the Qualifying Round, you compete in a number of solo and team matches. You score points by obtaining victory and also for match kills. That's where it becomes important to pick your partner wisely. In team matches, your partner may happily assist in scoring a win, but they are also liable to steal kill points from you, if you present the opportunity."

"Ideally, you need a fast but weak partner who isn't bothered about making it into the final sixteen." Mewtwo's tail flicks with impatience, as though he is put off by his own voice. I am still getting used to his beast-like form and associating the pragmatic voice to him. "Yoshi and Ness are the viable options."

"They're my two picks too," says Samus. "They can give you a leg up into the final stage. Once you're through the Qualifying Round, you're a Tournament Smasher. That's where Fox and Falco come in."

"We basically clear the route and indiscriminately drop out," says Falco. He pushes a sheet of paper towards me, which shows a tree-like chart with angular branches. "Fox and I will be in that lineup of sixteen. We go through the Tournament with you and do our best to knock out any Smashers who might threaten your route to victory. Then we'll make a graceful exit and push you to the final." He begins to jab at certain boxes. "So we'll remove threats like him…him…that horrid thing there…"

"And once I get to the final, I just need to win? What of Master Hand? Should I kill him?"

"Nope, stealing first place is all you need to do. Taking that from Master Hand the grand manipulator is a bigger 'up yours' that even a giant hand would struggle to top." Falcon claps my shoulder and smiles. "Once you win, you gain access to the Hall of Fame. Then the mission is complete. What do you think, Link?"

My fingers inch towards the tournament layout. It might be nerves or it might even be excitement, pulsing through my body to escape as an unsteady smile. I don't have the whole picture, but I have never been rendered incapable with pinhole vision – the Sages of Hyrule can attest to this.

I take the tournament plan and tuck it into my pocket. "Leave it to me."

-x-

For some of the flight to Hyrule, Peach gets me to draw and describe my arsenal when I was the Hero of Time, so that she can incorporate their designs into my Smash uniform. ("Gosh, that's rather plain," she says of the Hylian Shield, "I think I'll spice it up at bit before sending it as a request.") It's a soothing journey, and excluding that hour with Peach, it's also quite solitary. I spend my time writing down the Tournament mechanics in Hylian and poring through a magazine, trying to match Smashers with the names I've heard. Once or twice, Marth shows up, and I absently wonder if he will mind having a team of seven randomly dropping in on him.

Samus sits at the Flyer's cockpit with Falcon. Both of them have their legs propped up on the control panel, and they talk to one another while staring out the window. They only spare a polite glance every now and then. Surveying such a scene, I am left feeling resigned, knowing that there is still a whole lot more about this world and its customs I have yet to learn.

"What was the horse's name again?" I catch Falcon asking.

"I don't know. I don't think he mentioned it," answers Samus.

"…Forgive me for asking, but does it make sense? Fetching the horse and then going to Marth?" Again, Falcon seemingly talks to the window. I dip my head down and carry on drawing, in case they turn to see me eavesdropping.

"Yes it makes sense, because the horse and the idea of home still being within reach will comfort him enough to accept Marth. Don't tell me I haven't thought this through."

"Oh, you've thought it through all right, but you've put a shadow of doubt over Link the whole time. He's a good guy, Samus. He might not account for much in independence, yet he's got good enough insight to understand the bigger picture. Marth isn't going to faze him."

She sighs. "Any sane person would have second thoughts. What's the merit in taking him to Marth first?"

"It saves me from doing a return journey at the very least," Falcon jokes, but he doesn't sound happy at all. "Look, what I'm trying suggest is a bit of perspective. Link's perspective, to be precise. You can't string him along any longer without causing damage to your level of friendship and trust with him. It's not fair on Link to be ignored and might I respectfully add, it's not fair on Marth either. You never know, Link might deeply resent you for being so secretive. And Sam, it'd do you good as well. You need to talk."

There is an awkward pause. Then, Samus sighs for the second time and relents. "Fine. But if he does do a bunk, I'm holding you responsible."

I carry on pretending I am oblivious to Falcon making a move to change the Flyer's flight path. Samus procrastinates – for hours, it feels like – and when I am least expecting it (for I am a little carried away in shading my drawing of the hookshot), she drops into the seat next to me. I watch her reflection locked away in the metallic surface of the table, noting the absence of fidgeting, as though she is either frozen in time or utterly unaffected by me. Still, in the silence between us, there is the feeling of foreboding and gravity, and I find myself wondering just what kind of secret she is guarding.

"They're good," she remarks of my pictures. She attempts to sound spontaneous, but I know she has been stewing over it, as unskilled as I am in starting conversations. "Funny, isn't it, how quickly you can recall the things you mean to let go. You tell yourself to get up and move on, but the pull back to the past is so strong. You miss it? Being a hero?" Her fingers follow the smooth outline of the Hylian Shield.

I challenge her blank stare with a flat look of my own. "I miss the adventure. What about you? What is it about your past that pulls you back?"

She very nearly smiles, and she very nearly answers. Then, all plausibility of her admitting what is eating her up inside disappears in the blink of an eye. It leaves a prickly moment of quiet in a similar fashion to Peach's earlier parapraxes. "There's been a change in plan," she says finally.

"I know. I'm afraid I heard you."

Her eyes narrow a fraction before they dart to my ears. "Ah," she murmurs, marginally impressed. "I keep forgetting. You can probably tell then that Falcon's too meddlesome for his own good."

She sits back in her seat and surveys me, not unlike a bird of prey figuring out a mouse's next move. Now that Falcon has inadvertently drawn my attention to her secrecy, I'm rather bothered by it, from the deadpan stare through the table to the way she talks away from my gaze. There isn't anything to her actions, not even the raw emotion of anger. There is simply nothing, as though she has forgotten her purpose and, in its wake, lost her bearings and all sense of reasoning.

I suddenly find myself able to empathise.

"…What's your story?" I make a brave stab at conversation, if only to stop her from scrutinising me any more. "What's everyone's story?"

"Why is a motley crew of Smashers and ex-Smashers with a country boy as their front man planning to sabotage the Smash Tournament, you mean?"

"No," I reply mildly. "I'd like to know about you all – as people, not components to a crew."

She smiles to one side and exhales quickly through her nose. "I suppose we have only briefly introduced ourselves," she concedes. "In essence, we're all in a similar profession to you – delivering swift justice to the bad guys. The obvious exception is Peach. As you know, she is Smash Director and the Kingdom's Princess. Mewtwo's what you call a Pokemon, a generic term for creatures in the continent adjacent to this one. There are hundreds of Pokemon species, but Mewtwo is the only one of his kind. He was a Smasher in the Second Tournament; however, he was asked to retire because the Board feared the violence would make him relapse into his destructive ways of attacking people. He now works as Peach's bodyguard as a form of relaxation therapy.

"Fox and Falco – you may guess – come as a pair. They're mercenaries from the Lylat System, which is currently the most advanced galaxy to participate in Smash Brothers. They're a long way from home. The two and Wolf O'Donnell are the Tournament's "Space Animals", and Falco holds a two-Tournament record for the most match kills by meteor smash."

Samus offers another weak smile when she realises a lot of what she has said has gone over my head. I think to try and phonetically spell the new vocabulary, yet my hands are rendered immobile and disconnected from the rest of my body at the mere sound of her voice. She's so shut away, as though she is always speaking from behind a wall, but I am convinced I can trace echoes of liveliness and hope in her.

"Finally," she concludes, "Captain Falcon is a bounty hunter, pilot and racer."

"A car racer," he clarifies from his spot in the cockpit, "before you start assuming I'm an equestrian like yourself. I imagine a horse is far more temperamental means of transport, however, so you have my respect."

I think about telling Falcon just how temperamental Epona is, when I realise it takes seconds longer to retrieve this memory than it should. It occurs to me that I haven't given her or Hyrule much thought at all. The pang of guilt that follows does not hurt nearly as much as the dark thought that one day soon, this universe may consume me altogether. Perhaps, I reassure myself, this is the reason why Samus openly stated I will always have the option to regularly return home – if I don't pull myself out of the quicksand and take a breath, I will surely suffocate.

When Captain Falcon announces the Flyer is beginning its descent, I realise too late that Samus never said a word about herself.

-x-

Marth lives in a secluded grove somewhere between Hyrule and Mushroom Kingdom. I start to wonder if even Samus knows where she is, for straight after disembarking, the first thing she does is look around and frown.

"Should be to your left, Sam," Falcon calls from the roof hatch. He makes no move to come along with us. By unspoken agreement, only Samus accompanies me. At first, I think this is because she stands the best chance in holding me back if I try to escape – which she is convinced I will do when I see Marth – but after some careful thought, I believe it is Falcon's doing in giving us the chance to get along.

I stumble into the muddy clearing, my boots sinking into slushy leaves and squashed berries. There are several decaying logs and thin strips of sunlight filter through the dense canopy. Between the thinner cluster of trees, there is a suggestion of a summery meadow ahead. Samus doesn't lead me that way. Instead, we head left and deeper into the woods, until the Flyer is out of sight and the only sign I'm still connected to the world is the tall figure of Samus herself in the distance.

It's quiet – uncomfortably lacking in life and birdsong – and I start to wonder.

Why is Marth in a place that's deliberately secluded?

What is it about him that could possibly deter me from the Tournament?

Why isn't he on board the Flyer, like the others?

And how come, whenever his name is mentioned, something stirs at the pit of my stomach, in grudging sadness?

"Here." Samus only murmurs, but her voice pierces through the grove like a knife tearing cotton. She takes my elbow, and we step over a rotting shell of an old tree stump, and then I spot the grey tombstone nestled amongst the wilting shrubbery and green weeds.

"We can't even put a name on his grave, in case the wrong person stumbles across here, but this is where Marth rests." She bends at the headstone and her hand runs over its cracked surface. Her fingers shake, as though she is still in disbelief.

Somewhere, in the corner of my lonely heart, I think I knew he was gone the moment I saw him. In magazines, photos and blurry recollections of my dreams, his smile and face echoes like that of someone unchanged and distant. His name rings and lingers in me, as though it's an old story or rhyme, and I can't begin to understand why, when I stare at that harsh tombstone, I feel he has been with me forever, and now he's gone.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

END CHAPTER 4

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A/N: Yeah I know, what a surprise! Not. The fic title pretty much made it obvious where I was heading. I suppose you're wondering how a dead guy ranks as the second main character to this fic, outshining even Samus. I promise you I have it all worked out, though :) I'm trying to be prompt with my updates, so they'll likely be monthly. No more disappearing for two years (she says).

Anyway, thank you for reading this far! Comments and feedback will be most gratefully received.

~B