A/N: Back again, with what was supposed to be the second part of the last chapter. I can tell you, I enjoy writing this fic a lot more than most of the assignments I get in school, and there aren't any people irritating me while I'm writing it, either. This stays up, don't worry. (doubt I would've taken it down anyway.) Let's just say there's a big turning point here. You'll see soon enough. *hyper, restrains self from writing silliness* I know you'd all be REALLY angry if I turned this into a comedy.
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The next afternoon, Marth finally had an opportunity to leave the castle. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he changed into a simple cotton tunic and trousers. He saddled his horse with the plainest tack he could find. He mussed his hair, and tangled his horse's mane and tail. For a final touch, Marth rubbed a bit of dirt on his face and the horse. He thought it quite a convincing disguise.
The city seemed surprisingly busy. Despite the damage it had taken, the people were returning to their everyday lives as best they could. Marth looked all around. A few shopkeepers had reopened their stores. Children ran and yelled happily, playing in the street. Dogs wandered loose, sniffing around for anything that might be edible. Various craftsmen were at work. Though many of the buildings were still partially or totally ruined and many of its inhabitants had died, the city was slowly coming back to life.
As he rode on, Marth saw more and more people going about their business as if there had never been a war at al, even in the poorer parts of the cityl. True, the evidence showing otherwise was visible, but they seemed to be trying to ignore it. Signs of poverty were evident, yet everyone appeared to be trying to make the best of things. They seemed, in fact, happy. Were the Alteans, then, not suffering the way he had thought? Marth wondered why if others were healing, why wasn't he?
He was distracted by a ball whizzing past his head. He turned in the direction it came from to see a group of five young children playing in a burnt-out building.
"Your aim stinks, Jamie!" he heard a boy holler. "Didja see where the ball went?"
"Over that guy's head!" called a skinny blond boy, evidently Jamie, gesturing toward Marth.
"Hey, mister!" cried a red-headed girl with a missing front tooth. "Know where our ball went?"
Marth grinned and jumped off his horse to retrieve it. He tossed it back, and Jamie caught it.
"Thanks, mister!" he yelled back. "Sorry I almost hit you!"
"It's all right," Marth assured. He had noticed the children appeared malnourished and suddenly had an idea. He rummaged through his saddlebags, commenting, "You children look hungry, would you like something to eat?" He pulled out a bundle that contained a loaf of bread, some cheese, an apple, and salted meat. Sure, it was meant to be his lunch, but these children looked as if they needed it far more than he did.
The whole group stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. A stranger had just offered them food! They couldn't believe their luck. The red-haired girl, apparently the boldest of the five, was first to speak.
"You'd really do that for us?" she asked softly.
"Of course," Marth replied kindly, handing her the bundle and sat down on the ground beside her.
"Thank you," the girl practically whispered. "We don't always have enough food for our whole family. Sometimes, Mama doesn't eat just to make sure we have something."
Marth was saddened and confused. He had just seen what he thought were signs of improvement, yet this girl had just said her family was starving. Just what were the conditions in Altea, he wondered.
The other children had flocked around their sister, peering at the food in wonder. The littlest child, a girl of about four, wrapped her small arms around Marth's neck. He smiled and patted her head. The girl giggled. Meanwhile, they had begun to divide the food amongst themselves.
"I wish I could have brought you more," Marth remarked. "That doesn't look like near enough for all of you."
"No, that's fine," one of the boys said through a mouthful of bread. "Any food at all is good."
"Yeah, and no one's ever been nice enough to give us any," the redhead added, smiling.
"If I can, I promise I'll come back with more food for your family, maybe others too. Do you need me to stay for any reason?" he asked, willing to help these poor children in any possible way.
"Nah, were all right," Jamie said. "We can pretty much take care of ourselves."
Marth nodded. "I hope to see you again!" he called to the children as he mounted his horse.
He chose to ride a bit further, to think about what had just happened. How many other people were going hungry? What was it like to go through childhood wondering if you'd have enough to eat each day? Food had never been a problem for the prince.
He had gradually been riding out from the direction of the city. Soon, Marth found himself in an area a bit outside the city, where there were no buildings or people. Everything seemed oddly quiet away from the city noises. Marth rode on more slowly, cautious for some unknown reason.
Without warning, Marth heard a yell. Before he could react, Marth felt something slam into him from the side, knocking him off his horse.
He found himself pinned to the ground by a large man holding a dagger. Looking up, Marth guessed that his attacker had probably been lurking in the branches of a nearby tree, waiting for an unwary passerby to pounce on.
The man holding Marth down was quickly joined by three others, all of whom looked as mean as the first. They were, he guessed, bandits. Maybe if they saw he had nothing valuable, they'd leave him alone.
Marth's assailant snarled and placed the dagger to his throat. "Hand over anything you've got!"
"I have nothing," Marth responded, trying not to let his fear show.
One of the other bandits kicked Marth in the head. "You heard him! Hand over yer stuff!"
"I am not carrying anything, valuable or not," he insisted, only to receive a punch to the face.
"Fool! If you don't wanna die, empty your pockets and saddlebags!"
"I assure you, there is nothing in either!"
The man holding Marth down suddenly yanked him by the collar, forcing him to his feet with the dagger pressed almost into his back.
"I'm not gonna play with you. This is your last chance. Empty those bags NOW!"
He shoved Marth forward to where his frightened horse was being held by the bridle. Marth opened the bags, then held them up for the robbers to see.
"I told you there's nothing in there!" He turned his pockets inside out as further proof he was empty-handed.
"We're not idiots," another bandit growled. "No one travels without supplies. Now where are you hiding them?"
"I'm not hiding anything, and I'm not really traveling!" Marth practically shouted.
The man with the dagger looked furious. "All right, men, if he won't cooperate, we'll have to make him!" The other three nodded at the man who was apparently their leader.
All four of them jumped Marth at once, attacking with knives and clubs. One punched him in the gut, and the leader swiped at him with the dagger. Marth stumbled, holding his stomach and trying to catch his breath. This gave his opponents the perfect opportunity to strike.
A blow from behind sent him sprawling to the ground. As he struggled to stand, slices from several daggers sent him back down, now bleeding.
"Now, have you learned your lesson?" sneered the leader.
"I'd hand over my possessions if I had any," he replied coldly, pulling himself to his feet.
"Are you stubborn, or just stupid?" yelled the bandit leader. "I see you need a little more teaching!" He swiped at Marth again, slicing him across the shoulder. He responded with a punch to the leader's cheek. This infuriated the small gang of attackers, and they once more began slashing and beating at the struggling Marth.
The violence continued for a few agonizing minutes. Marth put up as best a fight as one unarmed man could against four armed men. He attempted to jump onto his horse to flee, but one of the robbers snatched him off from behind. Suddenly, one of the others spoke up.
"This is getting ridiculous. Let's just take the horse and scram."
"Yeah, yer probably right," the leader agreed. "We ain't getting caught, 'cause this guy doesn't look like he'll be goin' anywhere for awhile." This was true. Bruised and bleeding heavily, Marth was lying on the ground, unable to get up. He watched helplessly as the thieves led his horse off, talking loudly among themselves.
His pain was incredible. Wounds covered his body, and he was too weak to move much. He wondered if he was to die here, alone. If that was his fate, he thought, would anyone find him and identify him? He couldn't bear the thought of not being interred in his family's tomb with his parents and sister. Unconsciousness flooded over him then, preventing further thought.
******
That afternoon, Kyree had decided to search for herbs to use in her healing potions. Before the war, she had been apprenticed to a healer in the city. Though her training had not been completed, many of the people living just outside the capital city sought her help for various minor problems. She was now low on a few different ingredients, but she knew they could all be found nearby.
As she approached a patch of trees, she gripped her small sword tightly. Bandits were known to prowl the area and attack unsuspecting travelers. She knew it was foolish to wander this area without a weapon.
Entering the little grove, she noticed hoof prints. Not overly unusual; people passed through here from time to time. What startled her was the blood on the ground. She shook her head sadly. It appeared there had been a fight, no doubt with the robbers. At first, she saw no sign of anyone. Had both thieves and victim fled? Then, she saw something that nearly made her scream aloud. A young man lay at the base of a tree, covered in blood.
Kyree's first reaction was to assume he was dead and continue on. Then, she realized that it was possible that he might still be alive. She approached cautiously, hoping this wasn't a trick set up by a gang of bandits. Kneeling beside him, she gently took one wrist in her hands, feeling for a pulse. Somewhat surprisingly, she felt one. "I have to help him," she whispered to herself.
There was a problem. This man was far larger than Kyree, and she certainly couldn't carry him. She sighed heavily, trying to think of a solution. Drag him? No, not in his condition, that would only hurt him more. Yell for help and hope someone was nearby? That might attract attention of the wrong kind, namely robbers. Then, Kyree remembered her shape-shifting ability.
Without wasting another moment, Kyree transformed herself from a small young woman into a large warhorse. Gently lifting the wounded man with her horse's teeth, Kyree bent down and turned her head, allowing her to slide him onto her back. Standing up, she headed back toward her home as quickly as she could without dropping the unsconcious man.
