Bah. Kriz hasn't updated in a while! ;.; I had such a bad night that I felt like tormenting Marth and Roy, though, so.. Here.

As he stumbled off of the Melee House grounds, Roy was still pulling gauze and surgical tape from his face. Doctor Mario called after him, "Wait! You're not stable yet, you can't leave here!! Stop right there, Roy! Come back here and wait until you're healed!" The swordsman wasn't listening to his doctor, though. He hobbled off the Melee grounds just as the gates closed, and he limped off into the city.

Roy had sustained minor damage from the fight, only a slice across his face and two lacerations across his midsection. He was more concerned for the welfare of his friend than for himself. Marth's previously severed hand would be regenerated as soon as he reentered reality, so Roy wasn't afraid for the prince's physical condition. But when the warrior awoke, the doctor told him that Marth had left. "He said he was going out just for a while… Said he'd be back," the Dr. Mario had murmured while changing Roy's bandages. That was more than enough to set the warrior off. Roy had struggled out of bed, changed into his armor, and was now tearing down the street like a madman, frightening people off with his unsheathed sword.

Roy was so unused to real combat that even his insignificant flesh wounds slowed him down. He was panting heavily as he came to a halt on the corner, leaning against the lamppost and holding his stomach. He could feel the dampness in his bandages; he was bleeding right through them. His armor felt heavier than usual, and his sword was oppressively weighing down his arm. "I have to keep going," he pressed himself, "I have to get to Marth before Tomoyuki hurts him."

"Or worse…"

--

Marth groaned as consciousness roused his brain from its slumber. He wasn't exactly a morning person, and Roy would readily second that. He didn't actually wake up until after a hot morning shower… Mmm, shower, just what his battle-worn body needed. Marth smiled, his eyes still closed, and he now lifted his head and attempted to move.

His attempts were met with failure. The Altean groaned, now opening his eyes to find himself in a rather peculiar position. He was being forced to kneel before what looked like a cloth ottoman, his wrists chained to the piece of furniture. When he tried to move his legs to stand up, he'd find his ankles fastened to the floor. His body was achy and his clothes were dirty and tattered. His armor and weapon, however, were nowhere to be found.

"Ah, so you're awake…" The Altean prince lifted his eyes, startled to find someone before him. Tomoyuki was all decked out in his ebony robes, his white hair flowing far past his shoulders. He loomed over Marth with a threatening weapon in his hand. Cerulean eyes were drawn to the strange device… A black iron shaft that held on its end a curved blade, sharpened to a surgically precise point.

Tomoyuki grinned as he saw Marth eyeing up the weapon, and he leaned down into the prince's face. "Yes, dear boy, I'm not someone who fights with swords. I used to be right-handed, you see, and my left can't support the weight of a blade like your own. I chose to wield this sickle instead." Marth's brows knitted as he looked up to Tomoyuki, his gaze stern. "You… Used to be right-handed?" Tomoyuki stood straight again as his other arm was produced from behind his cloak. Marth looked at it strangely, not realizing at first that it was an arm, since it didn't have a hand at the end.

"I used to be right-handed, yes," Tomoyuki gloated as he took a slow pace around the detained Marth. "Ah, yes, back in the day when I was in training. I remember it so well… I, like your friend Roy, was one of the sons of the Principality of Pharae. Of course, in those days, the most coveted prize for us was the Sword of Seals, the most-powerful enchanted blade in the kingdom. I was the ideal candidate for its ownership, but there was just one boy who opposed me, only one who could match my skill."

Marth swallowed hard. He had the sick feeling that he knew where this was going... Time and time again, Roy woke him up by whimpering in his sleep. Fiery-haired warrior would say nothing about it the next morning, though. Marth knew that Roy had a very guilty conscience, he just didn't know why.

Tomoyuki went on, "He and I were going to have the final battle for our prize. We were in front of all the nobles of the land, having a genial sparring match before we got into the real sword fight. He always liked to put on a show for the audience, so he insisted that we get a running start at each other." Tomoyuki stood next to Marth, crouching a bit to imitate the stance. "It was glorious… Two young, skilled warriors going for a head-on clash, blade-to-blade, man-to-man." He ran out across the dimly lit room and, in a flourish of his deformed arm, demonstrated the slice he'd taken. "It was where the fight was going to begin, and that's just where it ended."

"… He cut off your hand," Marth stammered. He looked horrified. "H-he slipped and … Cut off your hand." Such a thing was considered cowardly by any swordsman. To render one's enemy helpless before getting into battle was unheard of! Tomoyuki turned to Marth, shaking in anger. "He didn't slip!" he snarled, "He did it purposely! I would have won that match if he didn't sever my hand!" One would think the prowler-mage was about to burst into tears the way he was getting so emotional. "He, of course, won the sword, and I was reduced to nothing. Nothing! Just a lowly stable-boy, a mangled peddler, a useless apprentice."

"But what do you want with me?!" Marth whimpered, tugging on his chains. "I haven't done a thi-" He stopped short, his eyes widening in terror as he saw that sickle-blade lingering over his own chained hands. "You, dear Prince," Tomoyuki grinned, "Are going to be my revenge."

Bah. Short chapter. I hate it. o.o Better stuff comes in the next one, yes yes.