Okay, folks. Hi again, sorry for taking so long to update (the muses and I were in disagreement). Kudos go again to my beta The Tears of Ages for going through my error ridden drafts (they were particularly bad this time, especially as I'd done a lot of writing at a rather late hour--sorry!). So... umm.. yes. Here we go. For people who have forgotten, please keep in mind that this is a story containing a good deal of homosexuality. Doesn't float your boat? Well, nobody's forcing you to read it--the door's that way. points to the back button

Anyway, for the rest of you (and for the loyal readers who've stuck with me this far, let me take these two seconds to thank you so, so much for staying around when these ten chapters have taken so long I think most would have died of boredom) enjoy!

Belle tested her bowstring, inspecting it for nicks and signs of fraying, and put the bow aside. Picking up her sword, she tested its balance, and then gave it a quick polish—it wasn't really necessary, but it was something to do. Checking her quiver, she nodded to herself—she had enough arrows to fight an army, really. All it ever took was one good shot, and the soldier would go down. Still, it didn't hurt that she'd tipped all of the arrows with armor-piercing heads—and a touch of the same poison that that an assassin had tried to use on the prince. Scowling at the thought, the guard finished the inspection of her gear and hastily snatched up her bow as a twig snapped.

Hearing the footsteps crunching in the snow, she grabbed an arrow and pulled the bowstring back, aiming at about chest height. The Embyrr scout wouldn't get a chance to see her face before he died, she decided with a scowl. With a silent hiss, she let the arrow fly. It was a good shot, flying straight and true—

--which was promptly caught by a gloved hand she recognized. "Oh no… G-general?"

"It's only me, Belle," came the general's voice. There was something wrong, though—something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it had something to do with the growing feeling of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach with his words, despite their calming intent.

"General Roy? Is there something wrong, sir?" she asked, hiding her apprehension by inspecting her swordblade (though she knew that if he were to fight her, she would probably lose).

"Nothing at all, Belle. I've come to relieve you for third watch." Something about his voice was sinister—it didn't fit him at all. What was wrong with him, though? "Nicely shot, by the way… if I hadn't caught the arrow you would have undoubtedly killed me."

He advanced on her, still holding the arrow she'd shot at him by mistake. "General?" she asked, suddenly afraid. Why hadn't he simply cast the arrow aside by now?

"Get some rest, you've earned it." He smiled nastily, and too late she saw what his intent was.

"No, General! What are you doing?" The shout came too late as the arrow's poisoned head plunged into her throat. Belle recognized the voice as her lover's, and silently thanked Jeanne in her thoughts for trying.

With a bloody cough, the guard expired, an expression of shocked betrayal written on her face. Her equipment lay as she'd left it, well maintained and in perfect condition.

---------

Jeanne watched her lover die at the general's hands in shock. The shout ripped from her throat far too late—the arrow had already begun its descent. "BELLE!" she shrieked, abandoning her composure. The man simply looked at her, and dropped the guard's body carelessly. As he walked away, towards one of the other soldiers' posts, she bolted from hers towards Belle's.

"No… no… this can't be happening! Belle…" Removing the arrow from the young woman's throat, Jeanne closed Belle's eyes and cradled her body, overwhelmed by grief. "What has he done? We respected him, we trusted him—how could he do this to you, Belle?"

Her face hardened. "The rest of the Sixth Unit has to know, Belle. I'm sorry we can't bury you properly yet. But they have to know…"

Strapping on all of Belle's weaponry that she could carry, Jeanne picked up Belle's body and carried her bridal style as she headed back to camp. There was so much that had to be done, and all before the general returned …

------

"Raphael! Serge! Wake up!" she hissed urgently.

"Nnn… huh? Jeanne?" Serge sat up in his bedroll, yawning. Raphael seemed to show no signs of waking any time soon. "What's the matter? I thought the general was supposed to take third watch."

"He is. This is what the matter is!" Jeanne's voice rose to a dangerous volume as she stepped into the tent carrying the dead body of her lover.

"Oh hell no… what the hell happened? Nobody catches Belle off guard like that!" Serge elbowed Raphael hard, causing the man to groan and sit up groggily.

"Ow, dammit. The hell was that fo—oh gods. Belle?" He looked up at Jeanne. "She can't be… dead?"

"She is. And it's all the general's fault," the female guard snarled.

Now Raphael was awake. "Wait… hold up. What does the general have to do with this?"

"Raphael. Think about it. No enemy ever catches Belle off guard. She probably had the best instincts in the Sixth Unit, not to mention some of the best reflexes. No enemy could catch her off guard because she'd expect an attack from them. But who would she let her guard down around?"

"… no. You've got to be kidding me… this is a bloody joke, right? Belle's going to wake up in a second and laugh at me, isn't she? The general… the general wouldn't kill one of his own! He chose us, he trained us… we trusted him…" Raphael's voice trailed off into a whisper. "He… he just can't have… it has to have been somebody else…"

"Pull yourself together!" SMACK. Jeanne hardly blinked as Serge backhanded his squad mate. "This is no time to go into hysterics. Tell him, Jeanne."

"I saw him kill her. She shot an arrow at him because he surprised her, and he killed her. He wouldn't listen when I shouted for him to stop. He just stabbed her in the throat with the arrow. She… she didn't have a chance." Jeanne's expression turned to one of pure hatred. "Even if he's possessed, even if he's 'not himself'… I'll never forgive him for taking her from me." Straightening up, she barked, "We can't trust the general with the troops. He'll kill them all. Wake up the rest of the Sixth Unit and have them order the platoons to pack up and move out. We have to return to the castle and warn the prince."

-------

Roy stalked through the shadows surrounding the perimeter of the camp. Hearing a sudden increase in the activity within, he had half a mind to walk in and stop it, but decided against doing so. If there were deserters who wanted to leave, he could always track them down later. Distantly, he could hear Jeanne barking orders. It almost made him laugh, although a certain twinge in his heart told him that killing her lover out of spite was a petty and cruel thing to do. What would Marth say if he could see what he'd done?

"Marth doesn't even remember who I am in relation to him anymore!" the redhead snarled at the air. "Why should I care what he thinks?" Something squeezed painfully around his heart, though, and he fell to his knees gasping.

Tsk, tsk. We made a deal, remember? Wasn't this all for him? You wanted him back, didn't you?

"…Yes."

Doesn't seem like it. If you don't care what he thinks, then maybe THAT'S why he doesn't write you those sappy love letters he used to. Maybe that's why he doesn't even remember what he did when he wakes up next to you after screwing you into the floor. I hear he might actually propose to some princess who wandered into the castle a few days back. She's pretty, you know. And female… you never could give him an heir, after all.

"Shut up! What the fuck do you want?" Roy yelled, unsheathing the Sword of Seals and looking around for the source of the voice.

See, I happened to get wind of this little game your higher powers are playing. You win him back, you win. He marries a girl, they win. You see, it's almost perversely simple. The only problem is finding the key to winning.

"The hell is this 'key to winning,' anyway? I've tried enough!"

Have you really? Then why doesn't he remember you? Why isn't he declaring some cousin of his heir? Why won't he just make some girl into a concubine for the purpose of procuring an heir? And for the matter, your army is leaving you. Seems after you killed that woman her lover has turned on you. What will you do now, little general?

"Shut up, dammit! I'll go destroy the Embyrr Faction myself. I don't need an army to do it, either!"

Brash words, little general. Brave, but undoubtedly quite brash. One thousand to one odds do not bode well for your likelihood of survival.

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Sheathing his sword, Roy leaned his head against the trunk of a tree. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

I can help you with that. I can give you an army that outnumbers the Embyrr Faction's. I can give you strength and power beyond your wildest dreams. I can give you the sheer skill and speed to kill a hundred men in a minute. I can even give you immortality, at a price.

For a moment all the general could do was gape incredulously. All this was being offered to him? He could win the war alone with some of those things. And yet… what was the catch? "Name your cost."

A noble at heart, I see. Ready to haggle your way out of a price too high, I assume? Roy scowled darkly. I jest, little general. However, it will not be cheap. This I guarantee.

"Just spit it out already!"

Impatience will kill you, little general. But very well… I will give you the power to take down a thousand men and live, but you must take a thousand and fourscore lives in order to pay your debt.

"What the hell? So I have to find eighty more people, but still… what kind of price is that?"

There is a condition, of course. One of these lives must be the leader of the Embyrr Faction, one score must be innocent, and the last will be either your own life or the life of the one you love the most.

"Fuck you," the redhead snarled. "Damn you to hell."

Does this mean you don't accept?

"Accept? Accept? My arm is being twisted here and you're asking me if I accept. I have no army, they're all deserting! And this is all thanks to your insidious mutterings that drove me to kill her. I didn't mean to kill her… I didn't mean to…" The general sank to his knees, unmindful of the slippery moss under his fingers as they scrabbled across the tree's trunk.

Tell you what… I can give you all that you need to defeat your chosen enemy. And for a discount, too.

"Tell me, then. What do I have to do?"

Just give me your body. Do you accept?

He had no other choice. What could he do? With three hundred men, it was probable suicide. With only himself, it was guaranteed. Still… it gave him a feeling of being unclean, to so much as think about handing over control of his body to a voice he could not even see. It was like being violated, he thought, and still he had no choice. Roy could only pretend he was not about to cry as he thought that if the voice never relinquished his body he would never be able to touch the prince again.

"I… I accept."

"No, General! What are you doing?" Jeanne's voice echoed in his mind, even as the fatal words left his mouth. Wasn't it too late, though? He'd already agreed. Even if she could ever forgive him (and it was not as if she had to, by all means…he had committed a crime that for all intents and purposes could never be forgiven) it wasn't as if she'd actually warn him against such a thing. Then… well, he couldn't think about it anymore. A deathly cold hand clapped itself onto his shoulder, and the very same voice he'd been negotiating with earlier whispered into his ear, "Thank you for the body." Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he saw nothing more.

"Hn. It's been far too long since I had a proper shape, that's for sure."

"Come in."

Zelda strode into the study to find the prince signing paperwork and reviewing court cases. "I apologize if this is an inconvenient time, Your Highness—" she began. Marth cut her off with a casually waved hand.

"It's no matter. I'm usually fairly busy, now especially so since I've spent the past week or so cavorting with love, lust and death in more or less unequal parts. It's a rather long story you don't really want to know the details of, I assure you." He signed his name on another form with a flourish, and looked at her. "Sorry… do sit down! There is a chair over there, I believe. And there's no need for the title. Technically speaking we're both the same rank anyway, am I wrong? Just call me Marth."

Remembering his manners, he put his quill down and went to fetch a chair for the princess—who had apparently beaten him to it. "Thank you, Marth. Although I insist that you call me Zelda, in that case."

"Of course, Zelda."

-------

Prince Marth was everything Impa had said he was and more. He was kind, his elocution was perfect, and he never stammered. He always knew what to say, and even if it seemed awkward he would say it and all of a sudden it seemed as if it had been the right thing to say all along. Zelda wondered why none of the princesses she'd become acquainted with over the years had ever so much as thought of trying to net this man—he was certainly a good catch, and Altea was not exactly short on political influence. It was practically a match made in heaven for whoever could get him to propose!

But it was not as if she was only there to marry him (as if he would ever look her way. She sighed at the thought, suddenly depressed). Rather… she had had questions she'd wanted to ask him, though they'd all fled from her head once she'd stepped into the study. The room itself was rather cozy, conducive to both conversation and work.

"Your—Marth. Did… what has been happening? I know what that boy did to you, but… why did he do it?" She tensed as she saw him flinch at the mention of the incident.

"I… was rather foolish. I trusted someone I should not have turned my back on, and he betrayed me. It was not entirely unexpected, I knew he was from the rebel faction. Still… I don't know why I didn't just check for him before I talked to the general…"

"What… what would drive them to make such attempts on your life?"

The prince laughed bitterly, a strange sound from such a fair character. "I don't know. All I know is that whoever is behind this wants my power, wants to rule Altea. They don't know about the days I spend sitting here swamped in paperwork, too busy even to kiss him good night. They don't understand that court audiences take time, that each and every subject who wishes his voice heard must be—I would gladly abdicate my position so that I could live with him quietly, but I cannot for fear that they would misuse the power that comes with it."

"Who is he, the one you mentioned just now?" the princess asked quietly, curious.

"Him? I…" For a moment, Marth seemed mildly dazed. His grip on his quill slackened, and he stared into space as if he saw something that wasn't really there. "I… I don't know. I have no idea why I was just saying that."

"It sounded as if you had been in love." Zelda did not add that the prince's lover seemed to have been a man, figuring that Marth had enough on his plate to begin with.

"I… was in love. Yes."

"Stop," a single chiming voice declared, echoed by laughter like church bells. Zelda froze, mid-gesture, and suddenly the prince was alone—the princess could not hear or see him, so it seemed, as she stayed stuck where she had stopped.

------

"You have returned," the prince said quietly to the air.

"But of course. How could we not?" replied a voice like the singing of a bell choir.

"What do you wish from me now? I have faced trial after trial, escaping with my life through sheer luck each time. I have nothing left to give you. I only ask that you give him back to me."

"And who would he be?" asked the voice, playfully.

"Please… give him back to me. I don't want to play this game with you anymore. I'm tired of chasing shadows in my memory. Please give him back to me. I know his name, it has scarred itself onto my hip. I know his birthplace, it is written in his journal. I want him back. I want you to stop using him. He's not a toy," the prince replied, the barrier that controlled his emotions shattering. "If you keep playing with him like that, he'll break." He didn't realize that he was weeping until he'd sunk to his knees, overwhelmed by despair. "My heart is already broken, and it has been since he left to fight a war he has no chance of winning on his own. Please give him back to me… I beg of you."

He let his tears soak into the wooden boards of the floor, looking only at the ground. "Please, I beg you."

"Let's see what that princess has to say, then." Suddenly unfrozen, Zelda walked over to where the prince kneeled and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Marth? What… what's wrong?"

He found himself unable to speak, but the look on his face must have been enough. She abruptly held him close, in a hug—one that was more motherly than he'd expected. "It's okay," she said. "It's going to be okay. You've needed to do this for a long time, haven't you?" Wiping away a tear with the pad of her thumb, Zelda smiled sadly at the prince she held. "Just… close your eyes and pretend I'm him, for a moment. I won't kiss you, because you love him… but maybe it will make you feel better, if only for a moment."

And he did. He closed his eyes, and even though the tears kept coming he could envision that the one who held him wasn't Princess Zelda—but a young man, a little younger than he, with messy red hair and beautiful blue eyes. "Roy," he breathed. "Roy… I missed you. I love you… I'm sorry." And in his imagination, Roy smiled at him and replied, "I missed you too, Marth…" He didn't need to say the rest—Marth already knew what it would be.

"I see." The god's voice was quiet, thoughtful. "And here we thought she would have pursued you… she likes you, you know."

The princess looked up. "Yes. I like him, I may even love him… but that means that I wouldn't hurt him, like I would if I forced him away from the one he really loved. My name is Zelda, I hail from Hyrule. I will stand against you if I must, and the trinity of goddesses will stand with me. Give him back to Marth. If his memory has vanished, restore it. If his feelings have been confused, make them clear. Marth doesn't deserve this kind of torment—so give Roy back to him."

"We shall see if there is anything left of Roy to return to the prince, then."

"What?" Marth's eyes snapped open. "Did something happen?"

"Ah, yes… something did, in fact. Love can drive monarchs mad—they will do cruel things to their subjects while nursing their bleeding hearts. But men of lower rank can be driven equally insane—the men that Roy marched off with to fight against the Embyrr Faction have deserted him to come back and warn you of one thing: he has killed one of his own, a guard he'd trained personally. He is no longer himself, and we suspect that he will never be himself again if he is allowed to remain in his current state," the voice replied, neither cheery nor grave.

"… What must I do?" the prince asked, after some hesitation.

"You must bring him to his senses, and exorcise whatever it is that has warped him so. If you cannot—you will have no choice but to kill him."

A/N: Boom. Ouch, they say it in spades, don't those gods? Anyway, liked it? Hated it? Wanted to rip my guts out because you think I'm either a) a total meanie or b) a total dorkasaurus with no life whatsoever because I've made Marth cry (and/or gay, but I'm wondering why the hell you're still here if you have a problem with that)? Reviews are great places to let all that pent up emotion out. Let me know how you felt. :)