A/n: Thanks for the amazing reviews guys; they were truly inspiring. In fact, they were so inspiring that I made this chapter extra long, too! :D
Special thanks go to Sweet Valentine for being the first reviewer and J.Q. Aoi for giving me more insight into Ike's character.
Revisions: 2/18/14
The Flames
Chapter Two:
The Cape
Zelda didn't like to admit it, but the loss she attained that day with Ike stayed with her for some time to come, dreadful and as annoying as a wine stain on her favorite Terminian rug. Never mind what Ike had said (all things related with that intolerable man had been fed through a figurative paper shredder in her mind). The fact of the matter was simple: she had failed to react in time to Fox's impromptu switch of opponents and that had cost her a great deal of respect, both in her eyes and in the eyes of her peers.
Not to mention, Zelda thought to herself as she scanned, for the umpteenth time, her Brawl profile on the Smash Bros. database, that I've lost three fights too many since then.
Her decreasing rank glared back at her in it's slow plummet towards the bottom.
I blame Ike.
Zelda was not an overtly superstitious woman, but by perhaps her belief in the Goddesses, she did believe in fateful encounters and could aptly say that her tête-à-tête with Ike was of the disastrous variety, the kind that had distracted her in a way that she was now strung to the most arduous strings of bad luck that no manner of mediating and refocusing seemed to shake it off. Just last week, in a match against Jigglypuff, she had seen a flash of blue, thought Ike had somehow snuck onto the stage to mock her, and tripped mid-way into delivering an otherwise game-ending kick.
A low pulling force in her stomach made her clench her fists. Something in the way that insufferable man had spoken to her broke her, crippled her with self-doubt.
But Zelda was not one to succumb to roadblocks. Maybe she was weak. Maybe all her previous wins before Ike had been flukes and her beginner's luck was starting to run out, but that didn't mean she had to take the losses laying down.
After all, a Hylian Queen did not go down without a fight.
First order of business, I need to practice. I need to hone my skills.
Where, however, was the issue.
Later that afternoon, her answers came in the form of Peach.
"The Training Room."
Zelda blinked, the delicate teacup that she had been lifting to her lips frozen halfway in its journey. "What?"
"You know," Peach continued, her own cup grasped majestically with two fingers in a manner only Peach could pull off, "the Training Room in the Southern Wing, past the boys' dormitories in the West and right next to the Target Range?"
It took a little thinking on her part to remember, but when the neurons in her brain sparked, her nose scrunched up at the memory.
"You mean the one that's occupied by the men all the time, who are always grunting, sweating, or profusely showing off their muscles to one another in some pitiful show of masculinity?" Zelda took a small sip, mouth coiled slightly in a scowl. "There's a reason why us girls no longer go there, Peach."
It was like stepping into a sweatshop. The stench permeating from the room in passing alone was sometimes enough to even make Samus's suit malfunction. The one time Zelda had actually ventured in (naive and earnest and under the impression that the arena had been a clean, safe space meant for both sexes), a fight between DK and Snake had suddenly broken out, and she had been nearly trampled over by their wrestling, hairy mass.
The vivacious blonde looked up with a smile. "I know it's disgusting—"
"That's putting it mildly."
"—but I also know for a fact that some of the cameras they have installed in the hallways don't really work; so, say, sneaking into said Training Room after lights-out, when it would be favorably empty, would be no hard task."
A brief moment of silence ensued in which Zelda merely stared at Peach with something akin to amazement.
"How do you know all this?"
Peach grinned, and Zelda was struck by the mischief dancing in her usually innocent expression. "They don't call me the Gossip Queen for nothing, dear."
Later that week, Zelda was reading in her room ("Advanced Tae Kwon Do" and "A Women's Guide to Space: the Story of an ex-Soldier"), though truth be told, she was only half-focused on the words before her. The pros and cons of using Peach's suggestions (and ultimately bending the rules) were in a state of perceptual battle in her consciousness for the tenth time since her roommate first brought it up, and she couldn't bring herself to make a decision.
I need this...but my honor is holding me back.
In some ways, she began to detest her sense of integrity; if she had been anyone else, or with any other upbringing, perhaps she could have found the courage to do what she needed.
Zelda snapped her books closed with a sigh. She was about to conclude her thoughts when an envelope slipped through one of the crevices of her door. It glided majestically, marked with the official Smash seal, before landing at her feet perfectly face-up, depicting her name.
She had been assigned another fight.
She gingerly grasped the notice, the elegant paper catching the light. It's embroidered edge was of the finest gold, and the bold inky script acutely stated her opponent and location, the preset rules and regulations of the fight, as well the time of her newly set duel. Most matches were set well in advance, giving the Smasher a few days to prepare, but the brevity and suddenness of this invitation meant she was a backup; the fighter who had been initially assigned the brawl had backed out last minute.
A tingling pressure of nerves grew her chest, but a few deep breaths calmed those jitters. Granted she hadn't prepared before her next skirmish like she had hoped, but perhaps this could be the tide-changing win? Perhaps this could be the victory that proved she didn't really need to explore Peach's lucrative, semi-illegal suggestions?
I don't need to resort to outside the law to better myself, Zelda stated to herself adamantly, staring at her reflection in a body-length mirror. I will win this on my own.
Resolve burning righteously in her heart, the brunette dipped her Rito-feathered pen in ink and checked the "yes" option in her note. Instantly, a flame-less, heat-less fire scorched the parchment in her hands, dissolving the entirety of the letter that then blew away in some invisible wind, leaving none of its charred remnants behind.
Zelda let out a long, slow exhale.
A heartbeat later, she heard the telecom speakers from both in the hallway and also outside in the yard beyond her window turn on with a jingle.
Her fight was made public, her decision final.
She left her room without looking back.
Minutes later, Zelda was beginning to reevaluate her chances of winning. She realized she may have overlooked her adversary's name when the brawl invitation had been extended to her, or perhaps, in the earnestness to prove herself, the little detail had been labeled insignificant and thus forgotten. A crowd had already assimilated by the time she had reached her assigned stage and Skyworld, with its glorious architecture and framing sunset, would have been in any other situation a picture perfect example of serenity...
...had there not been, smack in the middle of it and scratching his nose idly with a claw, the hefty green and yellow turtle that was to be her opponent.
I bit off way more than I can chew it seems, Zelda thought to herself.
Bowser greeted her with a malicious grin of sharp teeth and leering eyes. The Hylian princess, wearing a cool mask of indifference, merely looked back as if he were no more significant than the dust particles floating in the air, even though, inside, she was quivering with pre-battle jitters. He was nearly twice her size, had nearly double the brute strength, and weighed the most out of all of her fellow Smashers (even more than King Dedede who ate twice as much as the Koopa).
Not to mention he's a top ranking Brawler, whose wins are notoriously known for not exactly being legal.
What had she been thinking?
Bowser flicked a booger in her general direction and briefly her nervousness was interrupted with a surge of disgust. Refueled by his lack of manners, Zelda tightened her gloves. She still had a chance. She would just have to make sure she was nimble enough to avoid his heavy hitting attacks and make sure all of her magic was on point.
I can do this.
Without warning, the music began to flourish from some unknown source Zelda could never discover, signaling the beginning of the battle. It grew in tempo and volume until she felt her pulse drum along with the beat, felt the crescendo run down her spine like some cold phantom hand.
She dug the soles of her feet into the marble ground, ready.
And then, Bowser pounced—teeth bare, claws extended, eyes wide.
She dodged easily enough, stepping behind him before raising her leg to give his shell a hard kick. The toe of her boot glowed slightly under the touch of magic she applied there, before an all too loud thunk resonated and he fell forward as if he had simply slipped.
He hadn't flown like she hoped, but she had succeeded in aggravating him if anything else.
Bowser growled menacingly when he noticed the subtle crack on the pride and joy that was his shell. Zelda was decidedly pleased with the circumstances, but then he began stomping in her direction—bits and pieces of the ground breaking under his heavy steps—and her elation evaporated swiftly from the heat in his glare.
Oh, shoot.
They parried like this for awhile, Bowser swiping and Zelda slipping just in the nick of time out of the way, making weak but swift attacks in his direction in passing. Every hit she connected made the Mushroom Kingdom nemisis grow angrier and sloppier, and made her in return all the more confident.
She was beginning to feel like she actually had a chance—Take that, Ike!—when she stepped backwards and suddenly felt the lack of ground support. A quick glance behind her revealed that she was at the edge of the platform and that she had no other choice but to teleport herself to the other side of the stage.
She bit her bottom lip out of nervousness and uncertainty, for her magical disappearing act was as helpful as it was dangerous; numerous times, usually in the hype of the moment or whenever her concentration wasn't at its best, she found herself flailing off the edge of stadiums, missing her landing marks entirely. Bowser's quickly nearing figure was enough motivation to propel her past this fear, though, and with a sharp intake, she closed her eyes.
She would have to take a leap of faith this time.
Sending a quick prayer to the Goddesses, Zelda extended her arms and began to spin. The world around her blurred into a mesh of lines and color, and Zelda recognized the familiar pull on her skin, the stretching of her body, as the magic wrapped around her—
And then, out of nowhere, her whole body lurched.
The magic incomplete, she found herself exactly where she had been before, only something was now tethering her like a ship's anchor.
And that something, looking down to the exposed rip of her dress, was a foot.
Bowser had stepped on her dress. Had the audacity to actually step on her skirt to trap her and interrupt her and now there was a large gaping tear on her clothing revealing her underskirt and—
That...uncultered...swine! I—
She couldn't finish the thought, as Bowser's scaly paw made a wild grasp for her and then pressed her face first towards the granite without the least concern. The rocks scraped her cheeks and exposed neck like little daggers and all the air escaped her lungs in an instant as Boswer's crushing weight was soon atop her, her one arm trapped in his grasp pulled so back that it hovered on the brink of breaking.
The strain laced it's way through her neck and to her brain, distracting her. Murkily, through the ripples of extreme discomfort, Zelda registered that Bowser was deliberately dragging out the fight, inflicting the most unnecessary and unethical kind of torture.
This was just the thing she heard he did and just the thing she both expected and feared.
Was this some sort of entertainment for him? Was he just toying with her in front of all to see?
Slimy little reptile...
She was trying to come up with an escape plan when her opponent stretched her poor limb just a fraction further—and her arm moved just a millimeter more awkwardly and—
Suddenly, without warning, she both heard and felt the loud crack of bone.
Suddenly, Zelda was screaming.
The crowd gasped collectively, and somewhere in its midst, she faintly registered Link shout her name under her own sharp cry of agony. Pain erupted from her shoulder like molten lava and spread to every tendril of her form, suffocating her, impairing her ability to move and think and breathe. It hurt to just open her eyes, blurry and stinging because of the tears that had gathered there, that made everything look and feel like some hazy nightmare.
Bowser guffawed above her with a taunt and pounding of his chest, loosing his weight off of her. She gritted her teeth so hard that when she finally turned herself onto her back (nearly collapsing when another wave of pain shocked her nerves), her jaws ached.
In an attempt to ignore the pain, Zelda tried to figure out the best course of action. She flexed her fingers experimentally, hope crumbling when only her left hand was able to make a fist.
I have one functional arm left, she noted sourly, blinking away her tears.
She would have to make the best of it. She had to.
"Hey, you overgrown jerk!" she barked. Bowser glared down at her lazily, as if she was no imminent threat.
How wrong he was.
With a yell and swing of her good arm, she slapped her palm against his face. He jerked back in surprise but was nowhere near fast enough to dodge the burst of fire that suddenly erupted from her fingers.
He was off her in a second, screaming as his face and hair caught aflame.
Finally free, Zelda pushed herself shakily to her feet, almost toppling at the attempt. Her mind buzzed with vertigo, barely making out Bowser's large shape in front of her as he hopped around, arms patting his head wildly. Breathing labored and muscles crying out in overuse, she knew in that instant that she had only one chance to end this in her favor.
Victory was a long shot, but she refused to tally this fight as another loss.
She wouldn't allow it.
Goddesses, give me the strength.
By the time she collected the little energy she had left for one last attack, Bowser had successfully scorched the flames. His face was burned and hair slightly singed, and one of his eyebrows was incidentally missing. Zelda would have laughed at the sight of her brow-less opponent had her jaw not been shut firm in concentration.
She would laugh later, preferably once the match was won.
He snarled deafeningly, shaking from fury and hatred and fear, as he raised a coiled claw. Before she could comprehend—before she could inhale or blink—the fist was speeding through the air in her direction like a cannonball of scales and sharp nails.
Time slowed down to a trickle of a second as she became painfully aware of the fact that she was trembling in her spot, muscles frozen and unable to respond. All the while the fist was coming closer and closer, and maintaining consciousness was becoming harder and harder.
Move, she cried to herself. Move!
She blindly, helplessly released a punch of her own. Their knuckles met. There was a brief light. The wind howled. There was a short moment of silence in which even the music was coincidentally low.
And then Zelda was thrown back so fast that all she could register was her hair tangling in her face and her dress flapping wildly and the bubbling ache of disappointment in her throat.
When she returned to stage, Bowser was being handed the wreath of victory, having flown off only a second after her.
She was going to use the Training Room.
Later that night, physically healed but mentally seething, Zelda memorized Peach's instructions and full-heartedly decided for a little training session to get her mind off her unprecedented loss, despite all the medical advice she received to relax. Staying put in bed was the last thing on her mind, and even though her shoulder stinged slightly, she was more determined now than ever before that honor could take a little vacation.
Fueled by anger and dressed as Sheik, she slipped into the hallways per her roommate's map, molding into the shadows and eerie darkness in her silent but determined trek. Her steps were silent, and she left no trace of her presence, as was her alter ego's specialty.
Once inside the Training Room, she proceeded to beat the crap out of a sandbag on which she had sketched a rough imitation of Bowser's face.
"This," she hissed, punching it where his jaw was drawn, "is for breaking my arm. And this," she added with further ferocity, spin-kicking where his groin undoubtedly would have been, "is for ripping my dress!"
She had to admit that it was rather liberating abusing inanimate objects in her fury and in so immense an empty place. Here and now she could release all her pent up wrath, yell as loud and as un-princess-like as she pleased without having to worry about anyone, sans the crudely depicted Bowser, seeing her at possibly her wildest. She forget propriety and curse like a pirate and no one would know.
"Beating up the sandbag will not make you a better fighter."
Zelda spun around, instinctively revealing and releasing her poisoned needles in the direction of her intruder long before she was consciously aware that she had done so. Ike did not even flinch as the thin weapons skimmed and then embed themselves in the wall right beside his cheek.
The soft shudder of the needles echoed in the vast arena. She blinked, trying to register the fact that there was a blue-haired man currently standing unenthusiastically (arms folded and mouth coiled in a discontent frown) at the entrance of a place that she was positive only she was told how to get to at that time of night.
The shock soon gave way to panic.
How long...?
"If you want to improve," he sighed, astonishing her further by hoisting his sword out of its protective sheath at his waist and twirling the hilt experimentally in his hand, before pointing the tip of his weapon all too brazenly in her direction, "fight me, instead."
Zelda stared.
"What—why?"
Ike rolled his eyes. "You really think beating inanimate objects is how you're going to get better?" Ike frowned, lowering his sword. "You're stupider than I thought."
Zelda was in absolute no mood of his criticism, her eyes narrowing as she about to produce another set of needles, when she saw the amusement in his eyes, the smirk dancing on his face.
The haughty smile was just a slight upturn of the lips, barely noticeable, and quite different from Link's boisterous, infectious grins (heavier, she would conclude later, and several shades darker) but it was still enough for Zelda's fury to take pause. This was the first time she had seen such an expression on him—first time she had discovered the shy dimples on his cheeks and Zelda decided they gave Ike a rather boyish quality.
"Or what, is the princess afraid of losing yet another battle?"
If it had been Ike's intention to provoke her, provoke her he certainly did, for she suddenly released a kick to his side, aiming with a vehement desire to break a few (really, all) of his ribs. She didn't even see him move, but somehow, her leg met the long, flat side of his sword instead. She hid her shock behind a veil, grunting discontentedly before attacking again, this time aiming for his shins to knock him off balance.
With startling dexterity for someone as built as himself, Ike jumped over the affront, before bringing his sword down. Zelda dived out of the way barely in the nick of time as the weapon smashed into a nearby rock, effectively reducing it into a heap of pebbles. Nonetheless, she could feel the repercussions of the attack vibrate through the ground below her, prickling her feet and numbing her senses and implanting a seed of fear in her confidence.
She bit back her gasp of shock while trying to regain her poise from her haphazard dodge. Composure, she could hear her mentor Impa's berating voice. Composure and patience is the key to victory—
She swerved her hands in front of her, blocking another one of his swings, this time grasping the sharp edge of his sword and biting hard at the iron force behind it.
—Too bad she was too busy trying to survive her opponent's moves to take her fighting teacher's advice to heart.
Ike, unfavorably emotionless as usual, applied more pressure until Zelda could feel the blade cut into her thick gloves. The Goron-manufactured hide with which the gloves were made of was of the best back in Hyrule and special in that it allowed fluid joint movement while providing maximum armor. Armor, she learned quickly at she felt the weapon prick her skin, that could withstand constant pressure for only so long.
It wasn't until Ike saw the blood trickling down his sword that he finally relented and pushed her back with a kick. She landed not so delicately on her rump.
Great, she grumbled sourly in thought, hot with embarrassment and wincing as she rubbed her bruised tailbone. The last thing she needed was another loss, but here she was, unable to do anything but, bleeding and broken at the feet of the man that possibly started it all.
Doomed to be stuck in a vicious cycle.
Ike kneeled in front of her looking exasperated, and Zelda—weary and tired and with the adrenaline of anger finally wearing off—didn't even bother looking at him.
Just mock me and go, already.
She was so focused on preparing, bracing for the myriad of attacking words, that she jumped when he grabbed her hands instead, watched (partly fascinated, partly afraid, and entirely confused) as he gently slipped off her gloves to further scrutinize her wounds. There were long, horizontal cuts along each palm and from which leaked a rather astounding amount of blood. At its sight, Zelda only then began to feel the stinging pain a wound of such a nature usually accompanied.
Ike threw her another annoyed look and muttered "stubborn woman" under his breath, as if the state of her hands had been her fault and not his.
Zelda's eye twitched and she opened her mouth to make a remark but the sound of ripping cloth promptly cut her off. It wasn't until she felt him wrap a soft, thick material around her left palm that she realized that he was tearing long strands from his cape and using them as makeshift bandages.
Zelda swallowed—all notion of speaking lost in the opaque haze that had suddenly engulfed her mind—as his rough fingers carefully spread her own, as he worked at a fast but precise rate around her wounds, as she felt her nerves kick into overdrive at the proximity and intimacy and altogether peculiar kindness.
"Um..." she mumbled, unsure of what to say. Thank you hung at the tip of her tongue, but her throat was oddly parched and he was staring at her so pointedly that she couldn't find the will to move anymore than she had to. The atmosphere had gone from combative to uncomfortable in the bat of an eyelash, and she had yet to catch up with the abrupt change.
Who are you and what did you do with the jerk I thought I was fighting?
Ike got up unexpectedly, swiftly. "Eat some food. The bandages won't heal your foolish mistakes."
Nevermind, came the solid thought as Zelda glared at Ike's retreating back. As suddenly as his concern had bloomed, it dissipated, dissolved in the instant Ike left the premises. Zelda grumbled to herself as she got up, labeling the moment of kindness as a rift in the space-time continuum and then buried the memory deep under the many reasons why she disliked the swordsman in the first place.
The feeling of his hands, however, remained lodged in her memory despite all of her efforts, even long into the night when she sauntered off to bed to sleep.
A/n: Two fight scenes in one chapter! I wanted to challenge myself, so I tried. The fight between Bowser and Zel in the beginning is actually based on a match my brother and I had in the game. We happened to attack at precisely the same time, and when our attacks met, we both went flying... only I flew off a millisecond or two before him.
Don't expect every chapter to be as action-packed as this one happened to be. I'd tire myself before getting to all the emotional good stuff. XD
Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review!