Crushed Maw has been revised 2020/02/01. Originally published in 2015.
Special Note: With the initial publication of this fic, I had aged Marth up to make him around the same age as 18 year old Roy for ship reasons. However after consideration and further expanding on the story outline, I am aging Marth back down to his Shadow Dragon age (16) to make it more accurate and also to provide room for story growth going forward. That means that Roy is now two years older than Marth in this story. Originally, this fic was planned to only be around 25 chapters and end there, but it has grown to be over 40 chapters outlined and with more in the works, so I am revising older chapters to adjust for this (and also, hopefully improve upon some of the writing, as it has been five years and my writing is better now!).

Thank you to randomadorablepikachu for proofreading. And thank you to everyone for the reviews/favs/follows over the last 5(!) years.

Crushed Maw

The atmosphere was a little bit more relaxed when they finally set out to the Samsooth Mountains the next morning. The small army was quiet, only mumbling amongst one another rarely, but the sound of horse hooves and clanking armor was enough to keep things from falling too awkwardly silent.

However, even with these noises, Roy still found himself feeling nothing but awkward. He knew nothing of the faces that surrounded him, the grass beneath his feet, the tapering mountains by his sides, or even the sky above his head. It was all so foreign to him—even his new title of "mercenary" seemed alien to him, like that wasn't who he really was. He supposed the bill fit him, since he claimed no homeland and he most definitely did not fit in the visual norm of his new comrades, but it still just felt wrong.

With a slight shake of the head, Roy tried to clear his mind. He looked ahead of him, watching the slightly billowing cape of the prince that was walking not but ten paces in front of him. He introduced himself as Marth, the castaway prince from a land called Altea. Roy found Marth interesting; he was young, maybe only a year or two younger than Roy himself, and here he was, building an army to reclaim his homeland.

And of course, Roy was now in this army, for one reason or another. He figured it was for the better, seeing as though he had no idea where he was and apparently there was enough of a language gap that some of the others would ask him to rephrase his sentences every now and then. Without being in a group, he would more than likely be even more helplessly lost than he currently was. The prince's group had saved him and healed him, so fighting alongside them for a time was the least that he could do to repay them, especially since he had nowhere else to go.

As the group managed its way up winding hills and craggy paths, Roy could feel the air begin to thin and cool. He had begun to take slightly shallower breaths and it was clear to him that this was a type of terrain he wasn't quite used to. The grass crunched mutedly under the pressure of boots and hooves as they proceeded, and they soon found themselves at a fork in the path. At this, Marth raised his hand to halt them.

The young prince turned to face them. "Believe it or not, this is only the foot of the mountain," he said, mostly to Roy. "We've still quite a distance to go, and there are two paths… though truthfully, I do not know which tactic would be for our benefit."

Caeda trotted forward on her Pegasus. "Marth, the passages sweep around the mountains and connect on the other side. Perhaps we could split the forces in two and meet back together once we've rounded these spires?"

Marth thought about her proposition and nodded slowly. "If they connect back together again, then perhaps that is the best idea. There may be forces on either side—to leave many bandits behind could be grounds for trouble later."

The group agreed with Marth's thoughts on the matter and soon, he, with the direction of Jagen and Malledus, began to divvy up members into two groups: one group that would head north through a short and narrow passage, and one that would go west through a large field. Caeda would be the one to lead the northbound group and Marth would lead the westbound group.

Roy watched in silence as Marth went around to each individual member of the army, telling them which group they would be in. As Marth made his way around, Roy was certain that he would be put in the group with Caeda due to him being such a new recruit. A few minutes later, Marth came to Roy.

"Roy," Marth began. "You will be with my group heading west."

This came as a slight surprise for Roy. "Really?"

Marth simply nodded. "I had Cain and Abel check ahead on each route. The western field seems home to more brutal characters than those to the north, so I will need all the power I can get to fight back against them."

That made sense, Roy thought with nothing but an understanding nod in response. This caused Marth to smile and bow his head slightly before heading away once again. Not much longer went by before all units were assigned to a group and started to split up. Roy made his way over to his group, which consisted of Marth, Wrys, Jagen, Ogma, Darros, Bord, Barst, Abel, and himself. Marth had definitely chosen those with more brute strength for his side.

After a brief explanation of strategy, the small group set off through the field. It didn't take long for them to face opposition in the form of fighters and hunters. Arrows whizzed past their heads and axes clashed against swords as they were hit with the first wave of enemies.

Even though there were many of them, Roy was largely unimpressed by their attacks—they had no coordination and it was obvious none of them had ever been trained, so it was easy for him to avoid most of their swings and cut them down as they came at him.

The sky had long since clouded over and droplets of rain began to sprinkle down on them. Roy glanced up to the sky, taking note of the slowly darkening clouds before turning his attention back to the fight at hand once more. A burly man armed with an iron axe ran at him before he let out an almost barbaric yell as he swung his axe down at Roy. Roy quickly brought his sword upward to block the blow of the axe. Even though his initial block was successful, he was caught off-guard when he felt the incredible power of the man's knee jam itself into his gut. He let out a pained grunt and slumped forward slightly, which allowed his attacker to grab him by the neck and throw him down violently against the ground.

Roy's breath caught in his throat and he let out a choked cry as the back of his head hit the rough dirt beneath him. The enemy hovered above him, his rough hand still clamping tight around Roy's throat. He let out a disgusting laugh—one full of conceit and hatred—as he raised his axe once again.

"Stupid damn kid," he growled through missing teeth, "I'll kill yer ass for what you did to the others!"

He continued to talk—probably about something with language even more vulgar than before—but Roy could barely make out a word over the loud ringing in his ears. His vision was speckled with black and his upper lip twitched as he gnashed his teeth together. As he saw the man tighten his grip on his axe, he knew that surely this would be the way he died; to think it was all because of one damn knee to the gut.

"Hah, I would tell you to say your last words, but it looks like you can't talk now can ya!" the man yelled as he laughed. "I'll be sure to make it as painful as possible for you, pretty boy."

"Not on my watch!" came Marth's voice, the gentle yet courageous tone penetrating through the haze that had its hold on Roy's head.

There was the sickening sound of metal piercing through flesh and cracking bone as Marth stabbed through the Soothsire's back. Roy could barely see it, but he could feel it as the grip on his throat loosened and the foreboding shadow that was once above him disappeared into a slump off to his right side. He gasped a little for breath and Marth quickly came to his side to help him sit up.

"Roy, can you hear me? Are you alright?" came Marth's quick words.

"I—I'm fine," Roy spoke between breaths. He winced and went to stand with Marth's help, wobbling slightly as he tried to regain his footing. "Thank you for… saving me there."

Marth nodded. "Of course. I can't have you dying here, can I?" he responded and smiled slightly. "We're almost all the way through. Their fortress should be just around the bend."

It took Roy only a couple of minutes to recover from the blow he had taken, thanks to a healing hand from Wrys. There weren't many enemies left on the field by the time Wrys had finished, and Roy noticed Marth speaking with a young woman in robes as well as a young man that was with her.

The girl must have been who they came here to get, Roy thought to himself. He dropped his stare to the sword in his hand; the blade was still stained with blood. With a few good swings, most of the blood managed to come off his sword and spatter onto the earth beneath him. The body of his attempted killer still laid on the ground by his feet and Roy couldn't help but frown. He turned and walked away from the scene before it allowed itself any extra time in his mind, for there were much more important things to worry about now that he was safe from death.

Thankfully, the sprinkling of rain from earlier had subsided for the time being as Marth brought everyone from his group together once again. Roy learned that the two Marth had been talking to just moments earlier were named Lena and Julian—Julian being an ex-Soothsire, and Lena being the one that Roy had briefly been informed about on their way to the Ghoul's Teeth.

Under the direction of Marth, Malledus, and Jagen, the small force formed a v-shaped "wall" as it made its way to the fortress. Their new formation made a good barrier against the few enemies that were left, and in no time, they were at the entrance to the Soothsire's fortress. A dark snort and laugh caught the attention of the group, and they all raised their gazes to the source. On top of the fortress' outer walls stood a man, roughed up and shirtless with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a timeworn green bandana around his head and an aggravated smirk was on his face.

"You really must wanna die, comin' to the Soothsire's palace unbidden, you know!" he shouted from atop his perch.

"This is nothing like a palace," remarked Marth. "Your forces have fallen and there is nothing but a few of you remaining, including yourself. You are outnumbered and have been outwitted."

This caused the man's smirk to flash into a deep scowl. "I would watch yer mouth, dainty lad," he growled and jumped down. He landed his feet on the ground with a thump, though the high fall did not seem to faze him. "You look more like someone who'd have his nails painted with polish than with blood."

Marth's lips pursed into a frown, his grip tightening on his rapier. It was clear that the man's comment had hit a small nerve, which made the ruffian laugh. "If you wanna prove me wrong, then come at me! Fight, you damn kid! See if you can get lucky against me!"

At this, another group of Soothsires, presumably all that was left of them, attacked. Roy found himself once again reading attacks with ease and his sword sliced through skin like a hot knife through butter. The prince ran at the leader and began a fight of his own against him.

Roy would occasionally glance from his own fights to Marth's. It was clear that the man, whose name he had overheard being Reynard, was much more physically powerful than Marth was, and that Marth was struggling. With a swift swipe of his blade, Roy cut down the last enemy that had come at him before he started to make his way toward Marth. He would need backup against Reynard, that much was certain, and Roy owed it to him for saving his life not just once, but twice now.

A swift kick to the chest sent Marth flying back and tumbling across the ground with a pained cry. Reynard laughed. "Is that really all you've got? You'd be better off in a dress than you would in that armor, lad," he hissed with satisfaction. "Or even better, six feet under!"

Roy had managed to run in during Reynard's taunting and he took that opportunity to ram himself and the side of his sword into the man with as much strength as he could muster. This sent Reynard stumbling over with a yell. He gripped at the deep cut in his bicep that had been carved by Roy's sword and blood spilled down his arm.

"You damn brat!" he shouted and ran towards Roy with a swing of his fist, but his new injury slowed him down and Roy was able to duck out of the way. The two of them took part in a tit-for-tat exchange of blows and dodges as Roy did his best to buy Marth some recovery time, which was a courtesy that Marth was very thankful for.

Roy's distracting attacks gave Marth enough time to catch his breath and pull himself up from the ground before he ran at Reynard, his rapier once again poised to strike. With one hasty movement, the man's chest had been ripped open by the slender blade. Blood spattered on Marth's face and clothes and the man fell back against the ground. With a cough, a line of crimson traced itself down his jaw from the corner of his mouth.

"G…hah… damn you…" He muttered. "You… one day… it'll be you…."

Not just blood, but venom dripped from his lips as he spoke those final words before his eyes hazed over. Marth slowly sheathed his rapier once again before he looked to Roy, who was still looking down at Reynard's body.

". . . Thank you," Marth said suddenly, which drew Roy's attention to him. "I had been greatly overpowered… I appreciate your help."

At this, Roy only shook his head. "It's fine. You've saved me twice now, so the least I could do is return the favor."

Marth smiled slightly at that and nodded. The last few Soothsires had been slain and the fortress itself was now void of enemies. Jagen, Abel, Bord, and Barst all went inside to check the halls and rooms to be sure as Wrys healed any injuries the others had sustained. The quiet rumbling of hooves and feet in the distance started to become more apparent as Caeda and her group made their way to the fortress. Marth excused himself from Roy's company and went over to the other group to speak with them, leaving Roy by himself once again. He stared at the prince's back silently for a moment before looking up at the sky. His eyes narrowed.

It was most definitely going to start raining again. Of all the times for nature to be cruel, it had to be on the battlefield, didn't it?

However, even with the rain coming and the smell of death heavy in the air, his mood was still a bit lighter than it had been just a few hours before. He didn't know who he really was or where he was from but fighting alongside others was enough to make him feel like he still had a purpose. He was only broken free from his thoughts when he heard footsteps approaching him. He looked over to see Jagen walking towards him, holding his horse's reigns in his left hand.

"Roy, would you be willing to help us clear out some of this fortress so we may use it during the storm?" the elderly knight asked.

Roy nodded. "Of course."

He followed after Jagen and entered the old Soothsire fortress. The air inside felt slightly damp and cold against his face, similar to the air outside, but much more stagnant. It did not take long for them to clear out a few rooms and the main hall of debris or other junk and furniture.

"Thank you, Roy," Jagen said as Roy walked past him with an armful of old wooden planks. The redhead hummed a little in response as he set them down into a pile in one of the far corners. Jagen paused before speaking again, ". . . Tell me something, actually."

The sudden statement caused Roy to blink and look back to Jagen questioningly. "Tell you something?"

Jagen stared at Roy hard, his eyes seemingly scanning his to catch any sort of hesitation or lie. "Yes… do you really not know anything at all of yourself?"

The question caught Roy off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you really not remember anything at all? Or what are you playing at?" asked Jagen. "You claim to not know anything but your name… but that doesn't make any sense to me."

Roy furrowed his brow at Jagen's words, obviously a little unhappy with the clearly accusing finger being pointed at him.

Roy shook his head and motioned with his hand. "I am not lying. I really don't remember anything… and if I did, I surely wouldn't keep it from anyone. Especially from the person who saved my life not but a day ago."

Jagen remained silent for a few more moments, but his intense gaze never left Roy's. ". . . Alright," he finally said and turned. "I will be out to see Marth. We'll be spending the night here, though a few of us will have to take guard shifts. I'll be back soon."

With that, the old knight walked out of the hall and out the fortress doors. Roy watched him as he left, his brow still slightly furrowed. ". . . He is not going to trust me for a while, I feel…" he mumbled to himself. Roy glanced down a little. ". . . I suppose I don't blame him… But…."

He let out a small sigh. The night was going to be long; he could tell that much for certain. Perhaps he would be given a guard shift—that actually sounded like a great idea to him. It's not like he would be able to sleep very well anyway, given how there was so much on his mind.

The evening passed quickly after that. The sun had long since set and dark imposing clouds blanketed the sky.

Once, twice, flashes of lightning split those clouds and rumbles of thunder shook the earth slightly. He was on guard duty by his own offer, and though Jagen had been suspicious at first, Marth himself had come to him and convinced him that it would be fine to allow Roy the position.

So here he was, standing under an archway near the main doors, staring out into the rain. The storm was vicious, and Roy found himself captivated by how powerful it had become in just a few short hours.

Another flash of lightning.

His eyes closed as he let in a slow, deep breath. He exhaled quietly with the quaking of the thunder.

The noise from the storm made it hard for him to hear the footsteps approach from behind, but once they were close enough, he glanced back over his shoulder to the source.

Marth smiled gently. "Ah, it seems I was not quiet enough, was I?" he spoke softly. Roy smiled a bit and Marth came to his side, "This storm is quite something, isn't it?"

Roy nodded and looked out to the sky again, "Yes, it is… I take it that's why you're here?"

"Yes, in part..." Marth replied, which caused Roy to turn his attention to the young prince once again. "Between the events earlier and the storm raging outside, I was a bit too preoccupied to try to sleep."

This made Roy smirk slightly in sympathetic understanding. "That's why I asked for guard duty…" he mumbled, which made Marth chuckle.

"I figured as much," he said.

A comfortable silence fell between the two as they both stared out at the rain-soaked fields once again. The rain seemed to taper off slightly for a minute or so at a time before returning to its downpour state. The thunder grumbled and lightning lit up the clouds like a flash of fire that was doused almost instantly. Roy let out an inaudible sigh and closed his eyes once more.

Marth glanced to him quietly. He could tell that Roy seemed to be engrossed in his thoughts, but he decided against asking him about it. They had just met, after all, and surely it would be rude to pry into someone's mind after such a short time. His lips curled into a small smile.

"Well… please get some rest soon, Roy," Marth said suddenly. "Jagen should be out within the hour to trade shifts with you…"

Roy opened his eyes wearily and looked to Marth with a small nod. "Right… thank you."

What Marth saw in those eyes seemed to surprise him, just like the day before. They were that cool blue, much lighter than his own, but there seemed to be something else hidden behind them, almost like they glowed softly. It took him a moment to realize that he had started to stare curiously, though Roy didn't seem to mind. Marth's shoulders tensed before he quickly brushed off the odd feeling of uncertainty he was starting to feel in his chest. He began to walk back inside before stopping with his hand on the handle of the door.

". . . Good night, Roy."

"Good night."