"Fubuki no Kaen"

(MarthRoy)

Authors: Xan and Vallen
Rating: R
Warnings: One thing… Or, lot's of things: This is a story with yaoi/shounen ai/slash, whatever you want to call it. If that sort of stuff isn't your thing, then don't read it. But, we hope that you do…
Disclaimer: The characters Marth and Roy, plus "Altea", do not belong to us. We just use them for our pleasure.
Feedback: Yes. (That means we would love to hear from you and what you think!)
Notes: Xan: Well, here we are again, with a brand new chapter this time... This is where it all gets "interesting," folks, so be warned!!

Vallen: *cough* *cough* She's right… Just bear with our sadistic muses and read…

Thanks to: Li Kayun: (Thank you! Plot hasn't always been our strong point, as Vallen can tell you... *sweatdrop*) turquoisefox: (here it is we hope you enjoy it!) RcA: (Hee hee hee... you'll get plenty of "nice" stuff later on. just wait for the next chapter... *manical laughter*) Super Beast: (Very good on the title translations! However, we're not going to tell you which is the right one. We like to keep you guessing) Unproductivity: (Arigato! We like Marth/Roy too, obviously...) Voo: (Don't forget, dear, that you've read about 50-60 pages more than anybody else! Be thankful!) Mako Tsunami: (Thank you! Beginnings usually aren't our strong point either...) Krile: (yay!! Even non-yaoi fans like it! We've really accomplished something!! And thank you, we pride ourselves on staying true to the facts!) Nekoi=^^=: (*turns neko* mew! I'm really glad you do! Keep reading!) Fubuki no Kaen fan #1: (*blink* WOW. You certainly know how to make people feel loved don't you? We really appreciated that one, and yes, suggest it to whoever you want. Oh, and we don't post chapters based on how many reviews we get… We just post them as soon as we can get them out.)

True to his word, Marth was still awake when the first rays of sunlight began to stream through the chinks of the walls of the barn. The exiled prince heard Sanders and Brently's voices coming closer.

"Hey," he elbowed Roy in the back. "They're coming." The auburn-haired teen stirred and was awake immediately. He shifted his eyes just in time to see the two henchmen coming up to the loft.

"Hey, look, the little bastards musta been waitin' for us... Heh. Didn't want to be surprised again, eh?" Brently sneered, untying them apart from each other.

"Guess not," Sanders said. He leered at Marth.

"Gonna try anything this morning, Prince Pretty-boy?"

"I wasn't planning on it, esteemed guard," Marth answered quietly.

Sanders looked surprised.

"Well, my god. His Highness has said an entire sentence. Its a miracle."

He jerked Marth to his feet. "Now git over there and no funny business."

Once both prisoners were slung over the horses back and the captors were mounted, Sanders turned to Brently.

"How much longer is it till we get there?"

"We'll get there by nightfall for the evening auction at the pace we're going," he replied, urging the fresh horse into a fast canter. "Let's go."

The foursome reached the end of their journey just as the sun was beginning to set. Roy lifted his head wearily when he heard the laughter, screams, and other sounds he did not want to register. The slave market was indeed a scary place. Cages filled with scared, wide-eyed people who were yet to be bought and the buyers stood around the bars, looking at the "stock" greedily. There was a large, filthy stage where only one thing could happen: People were bought and sold.

"I heard you were coming from the grapevine, but I didn't believe the rumors!" A voice cried out, distinctly male.

A man ran up to them. He had greasy black hair, about shoulder-length, and small black eyes. The slave-trader wore a deep red jacket with muddy-brown breeches. Those eyes too shone with greed.

"I guess this time the rumors are true," Brently said, dismounting. "'Cause we're here and have two beauties which your buyers will go crazy over."

"Oooh! Lemme see!" He looked like a child, eagerly awaiting a new toy.

Brently shook his head and lifted the limp Roy off his horse.

"This one's young and has got a temper fit to beat hell. But I hear many go for the fiery, resistant type."

With that, he shrugged and gestured to Sanders. With a grunt, the burly man pulled Marth off the horse. The ex-monarch landed on his feet and swayed unsteadily for a moment before standing.

"This one's a little older. He's real quiet and don't say much, but ya gotta watch him every minute or he'll try to pull a fast one."

"Good, good, good!" The fast-talking man named Allen cried. He grasped both of their chins to pull their heads up and get a closer look at their faces… Fire and Ice.

"Just give us the money and we'll go," Brently hinted with a rough edge to his voice.

Allen looked up at the sky and fumbled inside his jacket for several pure gold coins.

"Here… Are you sure you don't want to stay for the Evening Auction? I save the best one's for last."

Brently shook his head.

"No, we've got to get back to General Gaimen as quickly as we can," he said. "But I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun."

Sanders nodded in agreement and took the money from Allen's hand. The mounted their horses once again and left as quickly as they had came.

"General Gaimen…" Roy growled angrily, speaking at last. "They're supposed to be answering to me."

Marth's cobalt eyes flickered over to him. Actually, everybody should be answering to him… Not that he liked groveling…

Allen turned to them and produced yet another item from his jacket: A dagger. He used it to cut away the soon-to-be-slave's tunics. He didn't want to bother with untying their bindings.

"We sell 'em with minimal clothing… What the hell?!" The slave-trader caught sight of the deep bruising on both of their stomachs. "You're damaged…" He looked angry, "Those bastards. I can't sell damaged goods, think of my reputation…"

Marth looked at him. What kind of reputation could a filthy slave-trader possibly have?

"Oh well. Yer pretty faces will make up for that…" Allen bent down and stood up, an object appearing in his hands- A whip.

Roy and Marth's eyes followed the whip as Allen uncoiled it slowly. He noticed their eyes and smiled.

"This is a special whip," he told them. "It'll still hurt as much as a regular one, but the end it soft so it won't mar your pretty skin."

Marth looked at the man, the tiniest bit of apprehension rising in his throat. Roy's expression was incredulous.

"Good to see you have the right idea," Allen said. "Now start walking. I'm going to put you in cages until the selling tonight." He cracked his whip to give his words emphasis. The three of them walked to a building with many cages inside, although they were still close to each other. Allen left, presumably to attend to other business.

The ex-prince sat in a corner of his cage, knees hugged to his bare chest, protecting his bruised and still-sore stomach. Roy, on the other hand, laid sprawled out, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm a soldier… I don't want to be sold," he said angrily to no one in particular. He glanced over at his former monarch, but just for a moment. 'Gods… How can he just sit there like that?'

'So this is life,' Marth thought. 'A prince one day, a slave-to-be the next.' He rested his forehead on his knees and let out a heavy sigh.

"Hey cutie, what's wrong?" A voice leered from a position next to Marth.

The man in the cage beside the ex-prince's was smirking at him. He had stringy brown hair, stubble, and a jagged scar over one eye. Marth stared at him coldly, feeling the ice slide over him protectively.

"Hey, lookit this one over here," said a female voice over by Roy. A hand slithered through the bars over to the boy-general…

Roy jerked away and clambered over to the other side of the cage, away from the questing hand.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, half-demanding and commanding.

A bunch of voices laughed then.

"Don't like to be touched, eh?" one snickered. "Better hope you don't get sold to a Master who wants you just for yer pretty face and body. Although that's not likely."

The auburn-haired teen's face flushed, but it probably couldn't be see in the dark holding area. He pressed himself to the bars as far away from the taunting voices as he could get. Gripping the iron poles, he stole a glance at Marth,

'Good. He's not watching…' he thought with a shake of his head. 'I'm just being weak.'

"Hmmm… I wonder if this one's as skittish as the other," hissed a voice. A bony, dirty hand with blackened broken nails reached out and caressed Marth's bare skin.

The exiled Prince made a sound like a cross between a yelp and a snarl and sprang to the middle of the cage. He looked around frantically, anger radiating from him.

"Whoa," the same voice said. "His skin is like ice."

All of the sudden a door opened, sending moonlight flooding into the dim room. Two large black-skinned men walked in, picked a cage and drug the person inside out. This happened several times, until Marth and Roy were the only ones left.

The mysterious door opened once again and the pair of muscular men unlocked Marth's cage. He struggled against them, but didn't bother showing any expression as they forced him out. First, the auction servants had quite a hard time putting the ex-prince's ankles into iron shackles, as he was intent on giving them a hard time. If he was going to be sold, it was not willingly. But they pushed him to the floor and held his ankles down, clamping the iron around them. As he moved his feet and they moved away, he saw that short chains were connected to them. The chains were, in turn, melded to the floor of the stage.

Beyond the stage was a sea of people, some dirty looking and some not so at all. Allen stood at the podium, smoothing back his already greasy hair.

"Here, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the true jewels of tonight's sale. The other one which is still in the back, is just as pretty as this one."

The audience stirred appreciatively. Allen grinned to himself,

"Behold this one!" He gestured at Marth. "Beautiful blue hair, blue eyes, wonderful body. Perfect for light manual labor or… other pursuits. Perfectly obedient and quiet, only vice- the bruising on his stomach, nothing that won't heal."

Marth stared passively at the audience members. Their greedy eyes roved over his body, their expressions caressing him. Marth bit his tongue. Never had he felt so raw and exposed.

"Shall we start at twenty gold pieces?" Allen asked, coaxing the mob. "Do I hear twenty?"

"Twenty!"

"I'll give twenty-five!"

"Thirty-five!"

"Forty!"

There was a long pause.

"Forty gold pieces?" Allen raised a brow. "All you people are going to let this jewel slip through your hands for only forty gold pieces? Come now, I know your purses aren't drawn that tightly."

"I shall give sixty pieces for him." A clear voice in the crowd rang out. Every eye in the mob turned.

The speaker was a young man dressed richly in wine red, gold, and sapphire blue. A rather beautiful face was framed with wavy long black hair.

"Ah Master Trave, I should have know that you'd have your eye on this one," the greasy slave-trader said. "Do I hear another bid?"

Nobody else said anything.

"Sold to Lord Trave for sixty gold pieces. Take him out to Trave's caravan," Allen ordered the large men.

Marth gave one last look to his buyer before he was forced back into his cage and carried out. Trave smirked at him and sat back in his seat.

The audience grew noisy again in anticipation, waiting for the last item of the auction.

He was brought out, struggling wildly. His blue eyes were bright and narrowed in anger. Strong hands clamped around his ankles, but before they could secure the shackles, he dropped down and skillfully swept his legs under their feet. The men were knocked down.

Allen stepped off the podium immediately, lashing his whip. His eyes burned as he struck the auburn-haired teen across the chest.

Roy gasped in pain and fell down to the floor of the stage. He looked down: There were no welts, just agonizing pain. He felt himself being dragged back and the cold iron fixed around his ankles.

'No…' he thought in horror. The boy-general began to feel what Marth had felt moments before: The eyes, their faces, and mouths whispering, forming a loud buzz.

"Stand up, Boy," Allen commanded in a low whisper. "Stand up or I'll take another lash at you."

Roy gritted his teeth and forced his body to move. After a moment, he stood once again, trembling slightly with effort to keep his composure.

"Well, now that that's over…" Allen announced, earning the sound of laughter from the prospective buyers.

"This one here, as you can see, has a fiery temper and the skill to pull off any kind of stunt. Blue eyes, wild auburn hair, and bit young, but that's never stopped any of you before…" the slave-trader announced in a loud voice, grinning slightly.

The crowd stirred, obviously pleased once again. The ones who still had money left wore devious gleams in their eyes while the poorer watched enviously.

"Who wants to try their hand at breaking him? I'm sure you've noticed the same bruising, but I assure you, its nothing that won't heal. I'll start at eighteen gold pieces…"

"Twenty!"

"Twenty-eight!"

"Thirty!"

A rather nasty-looking man stood and held up a hand,

"Forty-five," he proclaimed, thinking that, at the end of the auction, no one had the money left to spend more than that.

"Fifty-five gold pieces." It was Trave. The handsome man spoke calmly, knowing that no one could top that. His eyes shone with something like malice and pride.

"Are you mocking me, Trave?" the dirty man shouted at him.

Trave was eerily calm.

"Not at all."

Allen looked particularly please. He didn't notice Roy sink to the floor in shock. He was sold. The greasy trader snapped his fingers,

"Fifty-five pieces it is, Master Trave. Have fun." He turned to the pair of men, "This one goes to Lord Trave's caravan as well." They did as they were told, carrying a wide-eyed Roy.

The wavy-haired man, after paying, soon went to an area with many fine horses and one common carriage. Servants were hooking several of the horses up to a barred wagon, filled with slaves. Many of them sat, defeated, and others stood, catching glimpses of what they wouldn't see for a long time. But they all had one thing in common: One way or the other, they all had pretty faces.

Roy vaguely felt himself be placed upon a horse, his wrists tied to the pommel of the saddle and his feet tied to the stirrups. He couldn't move. The teen lifted his head and saw a familiar person on a horse directly in front of him.

Allen bade farewell to his biggest customer, handing him a long package.

"These are the items that came with those two pretty ones. The men that gave them to me had stripped them of all their valuables. There are two fine swords, a small crown, two sets of body armor, and a sum of money. I wish you well on your journey home," he said and turned back to his place of business.

Trave handed the package to one of his many minions to be put in his carriage. He walked over to where Marth and Roy were strapped to their horses. He approached Marth first and ran a hand slowly up the blue-haired man's leg.

"So what's your name, huh?" He purred.

Marth stiffened under this strange man's touch. He stared straight ahead, willing himself not to look at the man who was not his master.

Trave chuckled. His hand migrated up Marth's body, his fingers just barely sliding over his bare skin. The slave-owner's fingers grasped Marth's chin tightly, sharp nails digging into the tender flesh and forcing the young man to look at him.

"If you don't answer me, that means I'll have to punish you," Trave's amethyst eyes sparkled and his soft-lipped mouth was twisted into a sadistic smile. "And I really don't like hurting you more than I have to… Most of the time."

The ex-prince felt fear wash over him, breaking though his shield of ice. Inside, he wanted to fight that touch, to run away as far as he could. But he could not.

"My name is Marth." He said

Trave raised an elegant black brow.

"Marth? That is the name of the exiled Prince. Perhaps you are he, hm?"

Marth's blood boiled inwardly and his cobalt eyes slit with hate. Trave's nails dug even deeper into Marth's skin, drawing blood.

"You will address me as Master. Now tell me, what is the other one's name?"

"His name is Roy, Master." Marth fought hard not to growl the name. Trave released him,

"Good boy." He walked over to Roy.

"I would not have given you my name so easily," the teen said quietly, lowering his gaze. "But now I guess it can't be helped."

His fingers tightened around his bonds angrily and he forced his weary and hungry body to sit up. The proud general inside himself would not let him act weak.

"Such a fiery temper, quite the opposite of your icy companion," Trave remarked, looking at his struggles with amusement. "But tell me… Are you two… together?"

Roy's anger flared once again. The emotion flowed inside him, burning hot, and he glared at Trave.

"No! What the hell made you think that?!" the teen shouted incredulously, wanting nothing more than to break free and kill the slave owner.

Trave shrugged. "Allen told me that the two of you had arrived together. I was merely curious."

Up ahead, Marth wondered what Trave could have asked to set Roy off like that. He made a silent apology to the ex-general.

'Forgive me,' he thought. 'I didn't mean to be weak.'

The slave-owner smirked and stepped away from them.

"I hope you two have a comfortable journey. We'll reach my estate soon." He walked off. Marth stared after him, fury kindling within him and threatening to explode. Blood dripped down from his face and onto the ropes that bound his wrists to the saddle. The barred wagon started rolling forward and their horses, which were tied to it, began walking. 

TBC…

Author's Note: Xan: *grins* Well, that's it for this chapter. I hope you liked it, 'cause the next part only gets better!! Please review!!

                   Vallen: The end! This chapter was reeeeaaally long and I apologize for it taking so long. Gomen!