A/n: I'm so sorry for the delay! Life was pretty hectic for me; prom, finals, graduation, and placement tests for college were all within days of each other.
Anyway, the reviews have been simply amazing and highly motivating. They make writing 'The Flames' all the more worthwhile. Thank you so much!
Special dedication for this chapter goes to my super awesome friend, Joe Pit. You fucking rock, man.
Revisions: 3/14/14
The Flames
Chapter Three:
The Confession
"Keep your arms bent!"
"Don't pause in between steps!"
"Where the hell are you aiming?"
Zelda bit her cheeks so hard to keep from verbally lashing out (remembering that it was because of Ike that she was improving and that, really, cursing was so unbecoming of a queen) that she recognized the bitter copper taste of blood on her tongue and the bile in the back of her throat from hours worth of pent up frustration.
She sidestepped a vertical swing of his orange, suddenly aflamed sword, pondering if she had been absolutely insane the day she decided to spar with him or whether her brain had been on vacation, because this—this "no breaks, no food" regimen of his—was going to be the death of her!
She was sweaty. She was hungry. She was sore down to her fingertips.
She wanted to kill him.
"Your footwork is atrocious."
And he wasn't making things any easier.
What began as spars became a game of sorts quickly thereafter—a game that started without notice, without sign, without acknowledgment that it even existed in the first place. A peculiar game, Zelda realized in hindsight, and for which the rules were never written but as clearly understood as the universal truths of the world: the sky was blue, the grass was green, Captain Falcon wore briefs everyday apart from Tuesdays (laundry day) when he wore nothing at all.
The first and most fundamental law was that there was to be no pleasant talking of any kind. Jibes and taunts and criticisms (especially from Ike, mostly from Ike) were guaranteed, almost required, but enjoyable inquiries as to how one's day presently transpired were irrelevant and therefore nonexistent.
Why anyone would even choose to converse with such an ill-mannered swordsman was beyond her.
He's as sociable as a rock.
"Focus, woman!" Ike barked from across the field, and her eyebrow twitched at the remark. "I'm not here so you can sulk."
The second law: all ranks—fighting, royal, or any otherwise—did not exist here. For better or for worst, this meant she would have to live with his rude nicknames despite how they went against all sense of propriety and made her insides churn in disgust.
"Then leave," she grit out under her breath, tucking a limp lock of hair out of her face. "I didn't ask for your help and it's not like I exactly want you here."
In fact, she wasn't even sure how he knew how to get to the Training Room in the first place, but she suspected he would never tell her his sources for the same reason she couldn't reveal hers: protection. As per the third final law, privacy was king. They did not discuss the how or who or even the really the why. What was apparent and understood between them both, connecting them with an unfortunate thread of responsibility, was the knowledge that their entry here wasn't exactly legal and was to be kept strictly between them.
That meant no mention of training to Link and no mention of Ike's involvement in said training to Peach.
As a generally honest person this made some days rather unbearable and Zelda often felt the guilt gnawing at the back of her mind, ever-present like a ball and chain, for not only bending the rules but then lying to her closest allies.
"Oh, get off your high horse, Princess," Ike remarked, rolling his eyes. "You don't own this place."
"I was here first, Ike."
"And if it wasn't for me, you'd still be beating up a sandbag." He gave her a look, daring her to come up with a rebuttal. "Admit it, you need me."
Never, she thought vehemently.
For as long as she breathed, she could never give the jerk the satisfaction of hearing such words.
"Yes, well," Zelda asserted as she stretched her fingers before clenching them tight and then releasing her knuckles straight at his face, "a sandbag is more humane than you!"
Ike dodged like he was merely dodging a puddle on the side of the road. He moved with all the grace of indifference, like a hop and skip were all that it took to avoid her and her next few jabs.
She grunted in displeasure.
"Why are you so freakishly slow?"
Zelda bristled. "I am not!"
He slipped right past her, blowing a puff of hot air and a "you are too" in her ear. The heat hit her like the sun, tingling her pores and making her breathless as the feeling swept down her neck and back. She was about to elbow him hard in his gut in retaliation when Ike beat her to the punch and kicked her feet from beneath her.
She landed ungracefully on her forearms and knees and was met with one of Ike's sighs. "By your lack of effort, I question your drive to improve sometimes."
The brunette felt her vision go blurry.
Don't let him see you cry, Zelda thought angrily as she wiped away her pain and fury-induced tears with the back of her hand before getting up, glaring. She was shaking with the desire to say some truly mean and ghastly things to him but the weariness was causing her to draw blanks.
So instead she threw a burst of fire at him. It traveled with a velocity she didn't realize she was capable and even though it missed, it still singed Ike's cape and part of his shirt and momentarily even shocked him.
"Better," he admitted, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. His hair rustled in some unknown, source-less wind, momentarily distracting Zelda.
There were apparently rumors (according to Peach) that Ike had some of the softest hair in the Smash-verse, even among the women, though how her friend had picked up this tidbit of information was as suspicious as Ganondorf trying to make small-talk. She didn't believe it when the Gossip Queen casually brought it up, seeing how much a ruffian the swordsman was, but now having the opportunity to fight with him, Zelda too was mildly curious.
I wonder what shampoo he uses.
"Now, let's work on your posture."
Zelda all but squeaked aloud when Ike suddenly materialized behind her, so close that she could feel the cotton of his shirt graze her bare shoulder-blades and hear his voice reverberate along her spine and smell those blasted apples all over again. When his hands clamped on her waist, she openly screeched and swung around so fast and so on impulse that it took her a while to realize that she had made a fist and that, in her wild turn about, had connected said fist with his face.
He was on the ground, chin purple, and bleeding from his bottom lip.
Oh.
That had been the first hit she had been able to land on him all night and it had successfully shut him up.
Somewhere from beneath several compact layers of dread and weariness, her pride flared to life with rejuvenating vigor. Smirking, she leaned forward, greeting the still fallen Ike with a friendly pat on the head, palm momentarily tickled by his messy blue tresses as they skimmed her skin.
Every bit as soft and real as it looks, Peach.
"My posture is fine, thank you."
Then, without further ado, she promptly turned around and left, grinning to herself in her exit as if she had won some battle.
As far as she was concerned, she had.
It was breakfast next morning when Peace decided it was promptly done existing.
Zelda and Peach, in customary fashion, were walking towards their customary booth with their customary lunches (which consisted of, thanks to Peach's perseverance, all the customary delicacies that nobles such as themselves were used to) immersed in customary friendly chatter. Zelda smiled at the pleasant norm of their morning ritual, had come to appreciate it as one of the few stable factors of her life.
No biting remarks, no snide criticism. In fact, she saw her pseudo-training partner almost never outside of actual training.
Her mornings were turning rather blissful!
"Oh, look!" Peach whispered fiercely then, as if on cue. "There goes Ike!"
That bliss swiftly turned sour.
"And he's headed this way!"
As sour as bad Lon Lon Milk on a hot summer's day.
So much for my good mood, she grumbled to herself before furiously glancing around in order to piece together a quick escape, one that would preferably deter them from the incoming missile that was Ike. But they were far too along their trek to find another course, and turning around seemed suspicious without a carefully coated excuse.
Zelda cleared her throat, already turning to face the other direction. "Oh Peach, I seemed to have forgotten to get my custard this morning—"
Peach dropped something on the brunette's tray with a dazzling smile. "Don't worry darling, I grabbed an extra."
"Oh, but I couldn't—"
"Hush, Zellie," Peach uttered resolutely, linking arms with her with the strength of a Gerudan woman—deadly. "Let's not dilly dally. A rather handsome man is walking in our direction and we as the fairer sex must make good impressions."
Cursing her friend's desire to impress, Zelda dejectedly gave in to the blonde's tugging and marched forward on their path like a deathrow inmate. Ike was the last person she wanted to meet on normal circumstances, but last night had been a brazen fight for Zelda and she could only imagine Ike was now here (interrupting her peace) for revenge.
And in front of everyone! How diabolical.
"Good morning Ike!" Peach called, voice ringing with enthusiasm. From her growing sense of dread and his increasingly imposing aura, Zelda could tell Ike was now only a few steps away.
Don't look up, Zelda. Whatever you do, don't look up. Admire the tiles. They're so very clean—
Something sparkled in her peripheral vision, and in reflex she lifted her eyes.
Their gazes met instantaneously, and immediately she regretted it, for some invisible force locked her to his face with chains that stripped her of her resolve and rendered her weak. Perhaps it had been how intently his eyes were boring into hers, or his gently swaying locks, or even the way his mouth was quirked ever so slightly upward and released the subtlest of snorts as they met.
He was smirking at her. Mocking her.
The fumes of her anger almost made Zelda want to throw her food at him.
Their exchange must have been no longer than three seconds, but it felt like forever until he finally passed, headed in the opposite direction, offering little else in ways of acknowledgement to either of them.
It wasn't until she and Peach reached their booth and finally seated themselves that the Hylian princess noticed Peach's intense stare from across the table.
Zelda opted for a little distraction to sooth her nerves.
"I must say, they prepared breakfast spectacularly today," she began with a false sense of marvel. "This is quite the piece of..." she stabbed something randomly on her plate, "...lettuce, don't you think?"
Peach pursed her lips and leaned over, unimpressed. "What was that?"
"The lettuce?"
"No," Peach sighed in exasperation, "that...thing that just happened. Between you and Ike."
Zelda tensed but covered her uneasiness with an expressionless nibble of her salad. "I—it was nothing."
"No, nothing is what Wario has in between his ears," Peach piped matter-of-factly, before taking a gentle bite of her toast and chewing it down noiselessly, a delicate frown on her face. "What I saw a few minutes ago was clearly and undoubtedly something."
"You must be seeing things," Zelda scoffed.
"As your best friend," Peach huffed with coldness, "I...I am just absolutely affronted that you are unwilling to share such a vital and necessary development of your life." There was a sniff, a gentle tremble of the lips and a quiver of the chin as a single solitary diamond of a tear made its way down her cheek.
Zelda realized with a jolt that her companion had begun to cry.
She grasped Peach's hands firmly within her own, her innards burning with self-loathing. "Oh, Peach! Believe me, it isn't anything like that!"
"Really? You could have fooled me. I wonder what else you keep from me."
Another droplet glistened in the corner of the blonde's eyes, threatening to escape.
Zelda felt defeated, lodged between two unforgiving forces with only the heaviness of her decisions to keep her company.
What to do...I can't stand the sight of Peach crying.
There was very little choice in the matter. A quick glance around revealed that Ike was nowhere in sight and that no one of exceptional hearing was in earshot either. Safe, she breathed deeply to calm her nerves and then offered to her sniffling friend, "If I tell you, will you promise not to say a word of it to anyone?"
Zelda marveled at how quickly the tears were replaced with a grin on Peach's face. "Of course!"
She wondered idly if she had been just played by Peach's wondrous acting skills; someone—Mario, she faintly recalled—had warned her about them a long time ago.
Too late to back out now.
Still nervous, but equally determined to get this off her chest, the Hylian princess opened her mouth, pushing aside Ike's glaring visage as it popped up in her mind, before shifting closer so Peach could hear her voice's soft volume.
And then she began, "That day I lost to Bowser, I finally decided to train..."
There was some acutely wrong with the lack of surprise in Peach's reaction. In fact, Zelda felt a little duped when the gossipmonger didn't immediately break into squeals or throw confetti happily in the air or demand they go chase Ike down to further investigate and perhaps record his feelings on the matter, because that was the Peach thing to do and Zelda had expected no less.
When the blond princess simply nodded her head and smoothed out the wrinkles from her dress at the conclusion of Zelda's tale, warning bells rang in her head. She had thought the whole ordeal was rather wild and scandalous, risqué and unladylike, and just the kind of material Peach would have sucked up like a sponge.
That someone else knew Peach's knowledge in itself should have sprung the blonde into action.
Wait a minute...Zelda's eyes narrowed.
"You knew, didn't you?"
Startled, Peach looked up. "Knew what?"
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, the more she leaned forward and stared at her friend steadily with an angry gaze. "That Ike was visiting the Training Room. And don't," Zelda added with further ferocity when Peach opened her mouth, "say that you didn't because I can tell."
Peach bit her lip. "I wasn't going to deny anything, Zelda. I had...suspicions about some things, but I needed you to confirm them since I wasn't entirely sure he had listened when I told him how to get there—"
Zelda's fork slipped through her fingers and clattered loudly against her porcelain plate of mixed vegetables that then spilled across her tray and into her heart-shaped fried eggs.
"You what?" Zelda shrieked, her voice a higher octave than normal and so loud that the princess duo caught the attention of nearby Smashers, most notably of which were Lucario and his Pokémon tablemates now effectively glancing in their direction. Zelda swallowed and forced herself to whisper furiously instead. "You're the one who told him how to get there?"
Peach blinked innocently and gazed at her through her long lashes. "Was I not supposed to?"
I should have known, Zelda reflected numbly. I was hiding the truth from her, and here she was, the cause of it all. I should have known...
The Hylian princess groaned into her hands.
"Now, now, Zelda. From what you've told me, it can't be that bad." Peach expression turned blissful, tapping a manicured nail against her chin in thought. "Bandaging you with scraps from his cape, holding you close with his nice man-hands." She sighed with all the admiration in the world, cheeks stained pink. "Seems like you've got it made, my dear."
Zelda glared through her fingers. "You're forgetting Peach that, one: I have a boyfriend, and two: Ike is an infuriating tyrant who enjoys watching others suffer at the expense of his ego." Something in her brain clicked like a puzzle falling into place, and she grasped Peach's hands swiftly. "Did he threaten you? Is that why you told him about the Training Room? Because if he did—"
Peach laughed. "Zelda, darling, of course not! I only tell people who I feel could really use the secret."
The brunette stared at her roommate suspiciously. "What made you think he needed the extra training?"
If anything, Ike seemed to be in a pretty good spot rank-wise (That bastard...), and the room itself was always so male-dominated that he'd have no trouble fitting right in during normal hours.
"Let's just say," Peach answered with a mischievous wink, "that I think he needs to amp up his game."
Zelda's eyes narrowed. "What does that exactly mean, Peach?"
The blonde only smiled, sipping her tea.
Several Days Prior
It was a well-known fact that the Brawl Arena benches were rather uncomfortable and tended to numb one's hind quarters when sat upon for prolonged periods of time. Peach, however, resolved this problem with quick thinking on her part (since people of her status did not simply succumb to the mundane seating arrangements of commoners) by promptly telling Toad to bring a few cushions whenever they prepared to go observe a fight.
Though, truth be told, Peach did more observing of her fellow audience members than she did the brawls like everyone else. When a public announcement stated that Zelda was being pitted against Bowser, she hurried to the stands to immediately situate herself at the highest and furthest back row—umbrella perched, a cup of tea in hand—as such a vantage point allowed her to freely scrutinize her peers without having to look excessively obvious about it.
"Toad, my opera glasses, please."
Her mushroom-shaped servant next to her, and seated subsequently on his own pillow, quickly dove into the knapsack he had brought along, producing not only her golden pair of binoculars but a small notebook and pen as well. The opera glasses were swiftly handed to Peach, who then lifted the pair towards her eyes and scanned the stage beyond them with a careful gaze, but the slim pink pad Toad kept for himself.
"Good," Peach murmured, grinning excitedly, "Zelda isn't here yet. We can make some pre-battle observations."
Toad nodded before flipping through a few pages of the notebook to a clean new one, pen poised readily against the paper and waiting for her command like a racer anticipating the fire of a gun.
Binoculars still pressed against her face, Peach glanced towards the lower benches and at many backs of heads, running along them slowly and keenly as her ears strained to listen for any stray conversations. Very little was happening aside from the usual fight-related predictions and commentary, and she was about to dejectedly conclude her gazing when a sight slightly excluded from the rest of the crowd caught her attention and made her smile.
"Toad, record the date and place accordingly." She paused briefly as he scribbled the instructions on paper before continuing, "Make note: Meta Knight and Jigglypuff are seated approximately five inches apart, hands slightly touching. Jigglypuff looks flushed, and Meta Knight appears to be better groomed than usual, mask especially shiny."
She swerved a bit to the left to a figure currently in an animated conversation with Mario, though this sight made her smile fall in disgust.
"Also note: Luigi does not mind scratching his behind quarters in pub—"
A thump and shake of the bench beneath her suddenly cut her off and flung her into surprise. She spun around, opera glasses and all, towards the source of the sound and ensuing disturbance, only to see a mass of blue hair that covered her entire line of vision. At first, she suspected she had just spotted Marth, though a quick reference to her memories reminded her that he was seated several feet below next to Link.
Removing the binoculars instead revealed Ike.
She had never been this close to the infamous swordsman before, never had the opportunity to admire his chiseled profile and the grueling expression Zelda often complained about. He was sitting alone, elbows perched on his knees and chin resting on intertwined fingers and staring far, far ahead at the emerging figure of the brunette herself as she approached the stage. Peach's eyes turned towards her best friend then back to her new row companion with multiplying curiosity.
Time to investigate, she concluded. A bright smile in place, she carefully scooted herself closer.
"Well, hello, Ike!" Peach uttered delightfully, undeterred when he made no response in return. "Fancy seeing you here. You rarely show up for these sort of things."
Again, there was no sign of acknowledgment, though she did notice the way he tensed when Skyworld's flourishing music began, signaling the start of battle. She briefly turned in the direction of the stage in time to catch Zelda dodge and then kick Bowser with a glowing foot and began to clap in tune with the crowd as it erupted in supportive cheers.
"You know," she started again, "as Zelda's roommate and friend, I have the strictest confidence she will win this match."
Peach watched in fascination as his gaze momentarily flickered in her direction before quickly turning back; the moment, however, had been enough for her to catch the small hint of interest.
A response, she gleefully thought to herself. She swallowed her excitement (lest he became suspicious) and willed the muscles of her face from erupting into a coy smirk.
Time for an experiment!
"She has access to the Training Room at night," she continued, tone pleasant and staring forward as to make it seem she was just making casual conversation. In the back of her mind, she sent an apology to her best friend, for using her and her secret to conduct her current study.
"I can't say she's taken advantage of it yet, but at least she knows how to avoid the cam..."
The words died in her mouth as if they had suddenly hit a wall. Mouth left agape, she watched, horrified, as Bowser grabbed Zelda by her dress and pressed her towards the ground with a loud, resonating thud—a thud that hushed the audience's cheering like someone had just flipped a switch and caused Ike beside her to grip onto the metal edge of the bench until his knuckles turned white.
He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat, as if Zelda's name dangled from the tip of his tongue, but when Link beat him to it somewhere far below, he settled instead for clenching his teeth and furrowing his brows and glaring helplessly from his spot.
"She'll be fine," Peach reassured him, though she sounded anything but certain anymore. "She'll—"
Bowser pulled back Zelda's arm, mercilessly stretching the limb to its limit, and Peach inhaled sharply as her stomach lurched at the scene. Then, without warning, came the deafening crack of shattering bone, drowned almost instantly by the shocked gasps from the audience and Zelda's own piercing scream of pain. Link was once again shouting her name, and it was only Marth's own grip that kept the tunic-clad elf from leaping out of the audience to rescue her.
The whole sight of her friend made Peach nauseous and teary, unable to look away for fear the situation would get worse, and it was only when she felt the heavy, hot weight of a glare that she finally found the will to shift her gaze at its source.
Only to see Ike, point blank, staring angrily at her. In his eyes, Peach saw a whirlpool of several startling emotions.
"Tell me how to get to the Training Room after hours, now."
A/n: 4,000+ words. That's how long this chapter is. And here I was aiming for somewhere near half that.
Well, at least the story has finally begun rolling! One of the hardest problems I have with writing is getting it started and sticking with it before the crux of it begins.