Marth finally returns to Altea after many years away... though this is only the beginning...

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Path to Liberation

With the battle at Khadein leaving them without the Falchion, Malledus had suggested they return to their original plan: to march south to Altea. This was met with clear support from Marth, who had been yearning to see his homeland again. They had wasted no further time and had set out from Khadein that next morning after their fight with Gharnef, and it took them about two days' time to arrive at the border of Altea.

While Marth had told him of the beauty of Altea, Roy had been quite eager to see it with his own eyes. However, the sight before them was far from one of awe: yawning fields barren of life. Villages and towns that clearly bustled in the past were now haunting shadows of their former selves. The people—what few they came across—were sickly and distraught.

As afternoon fell to evening, the Akaneian League took a short time to pause and begin their preparations. The capitol of Altea was yet another half day's journey, and with such an important battle surely looming on the horizon, it was imperative that they were well rested.

That evening dragged on far too long for Marth. Rest had all but eluded him while he sat on his cot, and the sad eyes and skeletal bodies of the Altean people clouded his mind like a thick haze. Those barren fields stretched out in all directions around him, and his chest felt hollow with grief as the raw reality of what befell Altea weighed on him. With closed eyes, he inhaled as he tried to keep himself from becoming too emotional.

In another part of camp, Roy was assisting Jagen with carrying some spears to the armory tent.

"The drastic loss of life here is…" Jagen paused. "It's hard to believe."

The clinking of the lances in Roy's arms filled the silence as Roy tried to think through how to respond. Devastation and hopelessness on such a grand scale was harrowing. He thought back to the faces of the many starved villagers that they saw on their way. A sudden pain in his chest, like a vice had gripped his heart, made him grimace as he faltered enough to cause a clatter as all the lances he had been holding slipped from his arms.

"Roy!" Jagen said as he stopped walking. The commotion had drawn the attention of a few other members of their camp.

Roy pressed the palm of one hand to his temple and the other to his chest as he rode out the pain. Within an instant, not only Jagen, but also Gordin and Maria descended upon him.

"Roy? Roy, are you okay?" Maria asked, clearly worried. "Are you hurt? I can heal you!"

With a slight shake of the head, Roy dismissed her concerns. "No… I'm okay. I must have just tripped or something…"

"You don't hold your chest after you trip…" Jagen muttered.

Gordin felt a twinge of guilt. "Is it your injuries from Pales? Are they still bothering you?"

All the attention was too much for Roy to handle, and he shook his head again. "No, please, I'm fine. You don't have to worry," he said as he removed his hand from his head so he could look at the other three. "I think I might just be a little tired… or something."

Jagen offered his hand to Roy, and Roy took it before being hoisted back up to his feet.

"After we are done with these spears, go rest. Tomorrow is going to be the most important battle yet," Jagen said.

"Right… Sorry for the trouble," Roy responded.

Maria huffed at him, "And, if you are still not feeling well tomorrow… tell me! I'll help heal you!"

The young princess seemed to have grown quite fond of him by now. Roy smiled at her.

"Sure. Thanks Maria," Roy said.

With Jagen's assistance, Roy gathered the spears back into his arms, and the two men were off once more. After the last of the weaponry had been organized, Roy bade Jagen a good evening before he exited the tent. His mind was still buzzing from earlier. Without a destination in mind he wandered, primarily keeping to himself as he mulled over his headache.

His heart thumped twice in his chest, and though the pain wracked his body, he stood firm. He wanted nothing more than to groan, but the sound caught in his throat. After a few moments of standing still, he staggered. Perhaps if he laid down, he would feel better after all. Though it was difficult, he mustered up the strength to walk back to his own tent as normally as possible.

He flipped the door to his tent open and stepped inside. The fabric of the tent slipped across the top of his hair, brushing it just a little out of sorts as the flap closed behind him.

Much to his surprise, he was not alone: Marth stood near his bed with his back turned to Roy. It appeared the prince had not noticed Roy's entrance, and after a brief pause, Roy walked over to his partner.

"Marth, what are you doing in here?" Roy asked curiously, which caused the prince to quickly turn on his heel to face him.

"Oh, Roy," Marth said. "I just… well, I had been looking for you, but you were not here… so I figured if I just waited here, you would show up eventually…"

Something about Marth's tone made Roy suspicious, and with slow steps, Roy closed the distance between them. "… Are you okay?" he asked.

The humming in Roy's head only grew stronger now that the space between them was so minimal. He chose to ignore it, however, in lieu of Marth.

"No, actually," Marth admitted. "Seeing my country in such a state has… left me feeling naught but sorrow. I knew that Altea had suffered since Doluna took control, but… I had no idea to what an awful extent until now."

Roy frowned. "Yes… you had been telling me about how beautiful your homeland was…"

With a slight nod, Marth lowered his gaze to the brown, wilted grass beneath their feet. "Yes… and now, it is a wasteland… I cannot wrap my head around it."

Again, Roy's heart pounded once, hard, in his chest. This time he could not muffle his discomfort as a grunt escaped from his lips, and his hand pressed to his chest as it rattled. Marth quickly put his hands on Roy—one on his arm and the other on Roy's raised hand—to keep him steady.

"Ah, Roy…! Are you okay?" he questioned, concerned.

Though Roy wished to simply brush the concern aside, he had promised Marth there would be no secrets between them. He gulped and shook his head; his eyes clenched all the while.

"Here, sit down," Marth said as he guided Roy to sit down on his bedding. "You have me worried. Are you wounded? Did something happen in Khadein—"

Marth's words were stolen from him as Roy opened his eyes just slightly. Ruby irises clouded by agony locked with Marth's own eyes, and Roy's breath was more labored than before.

"Roy… Roy your eyes," Marth whispered, and Roy grit his teeth.

"Yeah… I know… I can tell," Roy grunted, his voice significantly huskier than before. "I don't… know what's going on."

With a gulp, Marth placed his hands on Roy's shoulders as he knelt. The grass crunched beneath his knees as he knelt to be face-to-face with Roy, their eyes not straying from one another.

"You are breathing too shallowly… try taking a deep breath," Marth guided. "With me. One, two…"

Following Marth's lead, Roy slowed his breathing—one deep breath in and out, and his eyes closed. Another, and his muscles loosened. After a few more deep breaths, the tightness in his chest and the humming in his mind had all but subsided.

When Roy opened his eyes again, Marth was relieved to see that familiar deep blue.

"There," Marth said quietly with a smile. "Much better… are you feeling okay now, Roy?"

"Yeah… I am," Roy responded. "I don't know how you managed to do that… but…"

A small chuckle from Marth brought a smile to Roy's face. He had grown to really enjoy that sound—it was always so genuine.

"I am not sure either, but I am glad to be able to help…" Marth said.

Roy moved his right arm up, and he slipped his hand between his shoulder and Marth's hand. Carefully, he pulled Marth's hand to the side and intertwined their fingers to give it a small squeeze.

"Well, now that you've helped me…" Roy started, "How about you finish telling me what's on your mind? What you were saying before you were so rudely interrupted, I mean."

"Ah, I had more or less said all I needed to…" Marth admitted. "I only wish I had been able to liberate my people sooner…"

With another slight squeeze of Marth's hand, Roy tugged him. "You've made it here now… Within the next couple days, your people are going to have hope again, and you are going to be their hope."

Marth's non-responsiveness drew a huff from his partner, and another tug brought the prince into a close embrace as Roy wrapped his left arm around his middle. Marth's fingers gripped at Roy's sleeve and his right hand as he closed his eyes.

"Hey," Roy said, his voice low. "This isn't like you. I know you have doubts about your leadership… but we trust you—the people of Altea, the Akaneian League… me. We all look to you and see hope. So, try to believe in yourself… alright?"

After a few long moments of silence, Marth let out a long breath with a quiet nod. His head was still bowed against Roy's shoulder as he was held in that embrace.

There was a warm, gentle press to Marth's temple that caused his heart to skip a beat.

"I'll be at your side the whole way…" Roy mumbled against Marth's hair. "We all will."

The knot in Roy's chest had returned, but it was different in nature this time: it was as if he could feel Marth's heart fluttering as they remained in each other's arms.

The Akaneian League had made it almost to the castle—Marth's home—before they were attacked by a large Grustian force. The main Akaneian army had formed two separate units: the vanguard, and an infiltration team. The vanguard was to take the winding route across the isles to the southwest, led by Jagen, Hardin, and Roy; the infiltration team was led by Marth and Jeorge, and was to take the route to the southeast through the prison.

Grust's primary force had been engaged by the vanguard, which provided Marth and Jeorge's team the opportunity to make their way south. They encountered far less opposition during their trek, but the enemies that they did face were just as vicious as those battling the vanguard.

The brutality of it all was overwhelming. To think that his homeland would be drenched in blood, and the wailing of the injured would permeate the air—it made Marth's skin crawl. The bitter rain only served to further chill him, though his sense of duty kept his soul ablaze with fury. The towering walls of the prison were just ahead and nothing would stop their advance—regardless of the severity of their struggle.

His rapier sung as it cut through the rain and pierced through the breastplate of an opposing soldier. With a gurgling groan, the man dropped his axe and fell to the side. Blood pooled on the earth below him as he bled out.

No matter how many enemies were slain by his hand, Marth would never grow comfortable with it.

Roy would not, either. The sickening sound of bone being crushed by steel would rattle in his ears forever and feed his nightmares.

Thunder boomed overhead as sparks flew; it was pouring rain and the battlefield was treacherous. The dry, dead earth absorbed little, and many soldiers lost their footing, only adding to their struggle against one another. There were shouts of enemy paladins as they raced forward and led more of their troops into the fray.

Mud was kicked up from the earth as hooves trampled by. Bits of armor and cloth, spattered with blood and dirt, flung through the air as soldiers on both sides were cut down without mercy.

With a cough, Roy tried to catch his breath. He had been exerting himself a little too much—the incredible fervor that fed his dragonstone had pushed him near his limits—but he wanted to put forth his all to free Marth's homeland. Roy had seen Marth as he fought earlier and felt how intensely the prince's soul burned as if it was part of Roy's own. His skin prickled and the intrusiveness of his partner's emotions fueled him even after Marth's unit split from the main force.

Like a web, light scaling spread down his left arm and across the bridge of his nose as his eyes flashed ruby. At first, the sensation alarmed him as the scales knit themselves over his skin and his teeth, now fangs, ached. All sounds drowned out as his eyes clenched shut.

"Roy… I am with you."

His mother's gentle voice freed him from the shackles of his fear, and he opened his eyes with newfound courage.

"No losing control this time…" Roy whispered as he gripped the hilt of his blade.

As he fought, his weapon felt lighter and lighter in his grip, as if wielding it had become effortless. There was an unmistakable feeling of turmoil in his chest as the dragon within him writhed. The cries and groans of felled soldiers bothered him increasingly less as his mind acted on instinct, and any fatigue he felt previously had melted away into nothing.

Jeorge had sniped the two guards that were standing post at the gates to the prison. With their way now cleared, Julian snuck into the entrance to get a clearer idea of how guarded the jail was. Only a few moments slipped by before Julian stepped back out with a frown. There was a multitude of soldiers watching the cells within, which would cause Marth's group a fair bit of trouble if they were spotted. They would have to sneak their way through as much of the prison as they could if they were to make it out unscathed.

The prince looked over his company. Jeorge, Julian, Astram, Merric, Rickard, and Marth himself were the only ones to make up the team. If they were careful, they could slip through without rousing suspicion, and Marth could guide them, so long as his memory of the prison's layout served him.

To say he lacked fear would be a lie—Marth's heart was in his throat as he snuck down the entry hall. Jeorge led the way, though he followed Marth's directions as to which halls would take them to the exit at the other end of the structure. There were many guards on duty, and they strutted down the halls with their weapons at their sides. Jeorge's eyes narrowed as he waited for one particularly slow guard to pass them by, before he motioned for Marth and the others to quickly scurry across the way with him.

Once they had safely made it to the other side of the corridor, Rickard glanced back around the corner towards where that guard had just gone. There was another that rounded the corner at the very end of that hall and was headed right towards them. Alarmed, Rickard turned to the others and tapped Marth's arm, which drew the prince's attention.

"We've got a problem," Rickard whispered. "'Nother guard comin' in from behind. We need to move."

"Right…" Marth responded, before he turned to look to Jeorge. "We're just over halfway to the exit… just a few more corridors. Though there are a lot of guards here. Even my father did not have this prison so strongly protected... it makes me wonder why."

Jeorge shook his head. "We don't really have the free time to look around and find out."

"Right…" Marth mumbled.

A few more corridors. That was all, and then they would be able to breathe again.

The metallic clinking of footsteps came around the corner, and the guard looked around.

No one was there. He simply turned on his heel and continued down a different hall.

With a gulp, Marth shook his head. They all had scurried around the next corner just in time. "That was far too close."

"Far too close?" came a new voice, which made the entirety of Marth's party react with surprise.

They all turned their attentions to the source of the voice—a young man with red hair, contained in a cell just across from them. He wore an interesting smile of sorts on his face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you," he said.

"Who are you?" Marth asked.

"The name's Xane," the redhead responded. "You must be Marth. Nice to meet you, princey."

Marth straightened slightly in shock. "You know who I am? … What are you doing in here?"

"It's a bit of a long story, and you're short on time," Xane said with a shrug. "But let's just say Doluna got real interested in me—once they found out I could shapeshift, they threatened me and threw me away in this cell after I refused to join 'em. Can you believe it?"

"Shapeshift?" Merric questioned. "Is that truly something you can do?"

Xane shot him a grin. "Sure is," he confirmed before he turned his attentions to Marth once more. "Would you be willing to help a guy out here? If you do, I'll even team up with you as thanks. I don't really want Doluna rulin' over this whole world anyway…"

All eyes turned to Marth as his expression hardened in consideration. If Xane had been taken captive by Doluna, then he was an enemy of Doluna—and any enemy of Doluna was a friend of his. Besides that, there was a glint of something familiar in Xane's eyes that Marth was unable to pinpoint.

"That sounds like a good idea," Marth said. "We will get you out of there."

Xane beamed again and hopped up off the ground. "Great, I owe you one. I won't let you down, princey."

At that, Marth turned to Julian and Rickard. "Julian, Rickard, would you two be able to figure a way to pick that cell lock?"

The two thieves looked to one another and nodded.

"Shouldn't be a problem, princey," Julian responded with a smirk.

Marth only shook his head with a smile. "Then please, by all means. Thank you."

"Try to be quick about it," Merric added.

Without further conversation, the two thieves made their way across the hall to Xane's cell and started working on the lock. It was a huge old iron lock, and it had proved to be incredibly finnicky as they attempted to pick it. Jeorge and Astram had gone to opposite ends of the hall to peek around the corners and watch for any other incoming guards.

Much to Jeorge's dismay, one of them was headed straight towards where they were. His jaw set as he pulled back and motioned to Marth, alerting him of the guard on his end. Marth's expression sank, and he briefly considered their options before he nodded to Jeorge as he put his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

The sniper shifted to take his own bow into his hands and nocked an arrow. One shot was all he needed to drop the guard, and that would buy them a little more time—but as soon as the guard's body was discovered, their cover would be blown. Once the shot was taken, they would need to move, and move fast.

With a slow inhale, Jeorge set back his shoulders and tensed his muscles. On three, he would shoot.

One.

The crunch of the dirty floor beneath the guard's boots echoed closer.

Two.

He could hear the clinking of the sword at the guard's hip with each approaching step.

Three.

Jeorge whipped around the corner, bow raised and poised to fire. He loosed the arrow and the guard let out no more than a gag as the projectile embedded itself in his neck. He dropped instantly, and Jeorge swiftly moved back behind the corner again and looked towards Marth.

"We're definitely on borrowed time now. We need to hurry," Jeorge said.

The lock clicked and came loose before it dropped to the floor with a clunk. Xane grinned as Rickard opened the door for him, and Xane trotted out.

"You have my thanks," Xane chirped. "I'm sure Doluna would've just had me rot in there."

Marth nodded. "Of course. I am glad we were able to free you," he said. "Though further pleasantries will have to wait. We need to get out of here before—"

"Hey! What's going on?!" came the shout of a guard.

Jeorge chanced a glance around the corner and saw a guard running towards the crumpled body of his fallen comrade. He clicked his tongue and readied his bow again.

"We've got a problem," Jeorge said as he kept his eyes trained on the other soldier.

"Over here too," Astram said as he backed off from the corner. "Just saw three more guards run by, and I'm sure there are more to come considering the commotion. We're going to be in for a difficult time getting out of here."

With one hand on the hilt of his rapier, Marth stood firm as he glanced to his left. "I remember the way out from here. They are already alerted to our presence. At this point, we shall just have to make a break for it. Follow my lead!"

The group sprinted down the corridor and ran through the intersection with the hall that Jeorge had previously scouted. One of the guards that had gathered noticed them as they ran across the hall and shouted in alarm. The sound of weapons being unsheathed reverberated down the length of the hall as the guards gave chase.

After a few more quick turns, the exit was within sight—the old iron doors groaned angrily as they were swung wide, and the group burst through. The rain had died down to a mere drizzle and the air was thick and humid, which soothed the burning sensation in Marth's lungs.

"We are not rid of them yet…" Astram said between breaths. "Looks like some of them are still coming our way."

"Prince Marth, please go on ahead," Jeorge said, his bowstring already pulled taut with an arrow at the ready. "I will stay back and take care of this."

"Jeorge, I will not leave you here to fend them off by yourself—" Marth said, but before he could finish, he was interrupted by Astram.

"Prince Marth, I'll stay behind as well," Astram said. "My blade will prove useful for you here."

Before Marth could question Astram, Rickard and Julian offered to stay behind as well, and after a moment of hesitation, Marth agreed to let them stay.

"All of you, please be sure to return to the vanguard once you are finished here… I do not want to lose anyone. Especially not here," Marth said. With their confirmation, Marth then turned to Merric and Xane with a nod.

The three of them escaped west, through the still-soaked fields. Thankfully for them, there had been no enemy presence throughout the entire east half of the isle after leaving the prison; perhaps their enemy did not expect them, nor anyone else, to go that route.

"Ah, would you look ahead at that!" Merric shouted. Just across the isle, the vanguard force was pushing back on what remained of Grust's defenses.

"We made it just in time," Marth said, relieved.

Xane seemed intrigued. "So that's the other half of your army, huh?" he asked, to which Marth nodded. The redhead squinted curiously in thought, and Marth found his expression interesting.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"Ah, ain't wrong or anything, but I am curious…" he rubbed his chin as he peered out at the crowd of soldiers. "There's a dragon or two out there, aren't there?"

Marth was taken by surprise. "I… how did you know?"

Xane smirked and shrugged. "Let's just call it a lucky hunch. One's an old fire dragon, right? And the other…" he paused as his nose scrunched. "Well… I can't put my finger on it. Feels like an ice dragon, but it's not like any ice dragon I've ever met before."

His words troubled Marth. "What do you mean by that? You've met other dragons before?"

"Sure have… let's just say I've seen a dragon or two in my life," Xane said. "But I've never seen or sensed one quite like that. It's like it's almost the same… but there's something just off that's got my interest all piqued. I want to meet 'em."

Merric had noticed Marth's unease, and decided to take the reigns from there. "Well, perhaps you could meet this other dragon later. But right now, we've got a battle to rejoin…"

Xane happily agreed, and with that, the three of them set off again towards the battlefield—though the shapeshifter's words hung in Marth's mind. What could Xane have meant by that?

Though Roy had been thoroughly embroiled in the fight before him, Marth's presence as he neared caused Roy's head to spin. Clawed fingers gripped at his hair as he gnashed his teeth. The hilt of his blade was scorching hot against the crystallized skin of his right hand, but he could pay it no mind in his current environment. Far too many other things demanded his attention.

A shiver ran down his spine as the scaling on his skin spread and knitted further. His left arm and hand had been fully covered in scales ranging from translucent to pale teal, with spots of gold interspersed throughout. Those same scales ran up his neck and under his eyes, and his ears had become pointed and almost fin-like.

Without so much as a second thought, Roy found himself chasing after Marth's energy.

Marth had nary a moment before he was swarmed by enemy soldiers—the tiara on his head signified his rank, which drew the attentions of many unfriendly characters.

A sharp gale blasted past his head, blowing a few soldiers away before they could even approach. Both Merric and Xane provided Marth much-needed backup, and Xane whistled.

"Gee, princey, you sure have a lot of fans," he said. He had picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers and twirled it in his hand before he shot Marth a grin. "Though they're a bit more aggressively into you than you probably care for, huh?"

Marth shook his head as he stepped back. The mud squelched beneath his boot as he shifted his stance before he lunged at a particularly insistent myrmidon, and his rapier pierced through the man with ease. Marth grimaced as he pulled his weapon back out, and the man fell to the earth.

"I do not know if "into me" is the proper turn of phrase in this case," Marth said.

Xane shrugged with a chuckle, though a moment later his previously lighthearted expression quickly turned to one more critical as he looked around. That draconic force he felt earlier was moving their way, and quickly.

A collective of shouts turned the trio's attentions to the west as Grustian soldiers practically flew back and tumbled across the ground. Marth's breath caught in his throat as he saw Roy barreling towards them, half-scaled and with burning red eyes fixated on the prince. Marth's fingers wrapped tighter around the hilt of his rapier in reflex and his heart pounded. The event that unfolded in Pales was still a fresh wound on his consciousness, and he feared for a repeat.

"Marth," Roy gruffed. He skidded to a stop right before Marth, and his chest heaved from labored breaths. "You made it back. Did everything go well? Where are the others, are they okay?"

Though Roy's voice was husky, much like the night before, it was clear that he was still in full control of his faculties. This eased Marth just enough that his grip on his rapier relaxed, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Yes… they are fine, they stayed behind to clear the prison of the remaining guards. But what about you? You're…" Marth said, though his voice trailed as his eyes slowly traced up Roy's left arm, and up to his eyes. No more was needed to be said, and Roy averted his gaze.

"I'm okay… I think," Roy said quietly. "I was scared at first. But this… transformation… feels a lot more comfortable to me than when I had that firestone."

His tone shifted to one more firm as he returned Marth's gaze once more. "And you're back now. So now I find myself a lot less worried..."

Marth could feel the heat rise to his cheeks just enough to dust them pink, and Xane quirked his brow.

"Huh… I had been joking about the whole "aggressively into you" thing, but maybe there was some truth to it after all…" he mused, which brought a darker blush to the prince's face as he shot Xane a critical eye. Xane only laughed before he returned his attentions to Roy. "So you're the interestin' one I felt earlier. I must have a chat with you after this is all said and done, got it? I want to pick your brain a little."

Xane's request was mildly puzzling, but Roy nodded in agreement, nonetheless.

The sound of a war horn drew the group's attention towards the castle, and the gates pulled open, revealing a horde of soldiers. The final wave of Grustian soldiers poured forth from the castle's entrance with their general, Hollstadt, at the helm.

"You worthless rabble!" boomed Hollstadt as he raised his lance skyward, "Your campaign ends here!"

"Looks like we've got more company," Merric said as he flipped his tome open. "Let's save the chatting for later!"