(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: Vallen: WOW! We absolutely LOVED your feedback and enthusiasm! I only
hope we can please you by putting out more chapters soon…
Xan: Yes! Many many thanks for all your wonderful comments!! They're so very encouraging!! Hope you like this one as much as much as the others, it only gets better from here...
Thanks to: RcA: (Nope, we have't forgotten about it! And we try to be good about the chapters) Li Kayun: (wow! Thanks for the major compliment! We're glad people like Marth & Roy as much as us!) Evui: (Hopefully, Vallen's explanation answered any major questions you had. And yes, they ARE beautiful!) Asudem: (The best story you've ever read? Wow, what an ego boost. They are a great pairing, aren't they?) Xtreme Chick: (Hey, it's great that you love Roy, but what about Marth?!) Sneasel: (*blinks* Roy Brigade? Oh boy. Nice guess on the title translation, but we're still not telling. Kudos to a fellow Game & Watch hater!) Hyperactive Hippie: (We're posting! Are you happy now?) Evil Anime Chick: (Thanks for your comments!) V-Amy: (At last! A Marth fan! Go us!) BlueMage15: (Marth & Roy clones? Sounds like fun! Keep reading, it only gets better!)
By the time the small caravan had stopped, Roy had given up trying to stay awake and slumped over in the saddle. Marth was dozing lightly, eyes closed but ears alert for sounds. They had slowed to a halt in front of a large iron gate with armed guards standing menacingly in front of it. The caravan had traveled into the night and it was now morning, the sun barely peeking out from under the hills and forest.
The gates opened slowly and closed again once they were through. The estate before them was enormous, a grand mansion with many levels and elegant architecture.
Marth heard Trave's voice, probably speaking to one of his servants,
"You know what to do with the new ones… But put the two pretty ones in the enclosed chambers and get them ready."
"Yes, Sir…" A softer voice answered.
A loud creak and several shouts told him that they were getting to other slaves out and putting them somewhere. Cold hands with a sharp dagger cut through the ex-prince's bonds.
"Please come quietly. If you try to escape, they'll just catch you again…" A tawny-brown haired young man begged in the soft voice of his. The prince looked at him coldly, but made no move after he dismounted. Fatigue crawled around every corner, threatening to grasp him.
Roy was no different. He swayed on his feet, head bowed.
They were lead into the estate and up a large flight of black marble stairs. Neither had the time to notice to grandeur of the place before they were ushered into a large room. A large bed was positioned in the middle, several couches, foreign carpets and no windows at all.
The man tossed Marth and Roy each a bundle and turned to leave.
"Master says that you are to bathe yourselves and put on the things I have just given you," he explained then left. The door was locked behind him
The ex-general looked around a saw an entryway leading to a bathroom. There was a very large porcelain tub with hot water already in it, a light steam rising.
"I'll take a bath… But not for him." He turned to walk towards the bathtub and noticed that Marth did not move. "Are you the modest type?" Roy asked in a glaring tone.
"It doesn't matter to me wither way," the exiled prince said. "If you'd rather me not watch, that's fine." He shrugged, "I don't care if you see me or not."
Roy snorted lightly,
"Since when have soldiers had modesty…? Fine, I'll tell you when I'm done then. It shouldn't be long." With that, he disappeared off into the washroom.
No more than five minutes passed before the boy-general came back, wearing a towel loosely around his slim waist and small rivulets of water dripping down the side of his face. He jerked a thumb in the direction of whence he had came, indicating it was Marth's turn. Once the ex-prince was gone, he knelt on the carpet and began to unwrap the bundle. The first item he found was a pair of fine black linen pants with gold trim. He dropped the towel and pulled them on, slightly in distaste because of the knowledge of whom they were from.
Next, he heard a clank and several jingle of metal. Pulling them out slowly, he grasped what looked to be found shackles. Forcing himself not to growl, he fixed them on his already raw ankles and wrists. Frowning, the ex-general noticed that they gold bands did not hurt at all, for they were inlaid with silk, the insides caressing his skin.
The last article he picked up was a gold collar, jeweled with tiny rubies. Roy's hands shook as he examined it, eyes darkening. He hurled it across the room with a yell.
'No! I will not put on a collar!' the teen shouted in his mind. 'No…'
Roy walked over to an elegant mirror, hands still shaking slightly. Before him stood someone he didn't know. This person looked softer and younger, bright auburn hair still dripping water droplets down his bare chest. That area, along with his abdomen, still stung from the whip and the bruises had begun to turn yellow. He noticed that his face had been left untouched, for the bastard Trave to look at.
The young teen looked around frantically for a hard object and, when he found one, threw it at the mirror and his image. It shattered into hundreds of pieces.
"That's not me," he stated loudly, to try and assure himself. When he turned away from the shards, he saw Marth there.
The prince's face, usually so cold and expressionless, was now a mask of mingled fury and fear. His cobalt blue eyes were narrowed and his tense stance radiated both the desire to flee and fight.
Marth looked different as well. Beneath his anger he looked vulnerable and nearly fragile with his elegant beauty. The shackles and collar (adorned with sapphires, Roy noticed) fell from his hands and he kicked them as far away from himself as he could. They hit the wall and fell to the floor with a bam and a clatter.
"He thinks we're his pets…" Roy spat vehemently. "I think not."
"So I see you are not pleased with my generous gifts."
The voice that could belong to nobody else besides Trave flowed through the air and burned their ears like acid. The former general and prince turned and saw the slave-owner himself smirking in the doorway.
Dressed in immaculate aquamarine and black, he looked at them if there were two fools brought in for his entertainment, which, they reminded themselves, they were. Now, he mock-pouted.
"But they are not ready yet," he said to the four hulking men who had appeared silently behind him. "Put on their shackles and collars and bring them to my chambers, bound." He turned and left.
Fear made Marth's throat constrict tightly. The way Trave had said bound made his skin crawl.
The four men started for them, picking up the shackles and collars up from off the floor as they came. Both of them struggled wildly, trying to save themselves from this indignity. Marth was nearly frantic by now, trying desperately to escape, even if it meant getting injured.
"No!" He shouted. "I won't be chained! Not again!"
Roy glanced over at Marth, frowning slightly. Why was the usually icy prince acting like a frightened child? Couldn't he see that there was no use now?
But it was all to no avail. In the end, despite their struggles, the shackles were clasped around their wrists and ankles and the collars fitted around their throats. The guards marched them out of the washroom and though several twisting corridors until they came to a set of huge doors made of black wood. They swung open and Marth and Roy were pushed rudely inside.
Trave's chambers were vast and richly decorated. In fact, nothing would have looked out of place in Marth's castle. But the two of them took little notice of this as they were forced towards once part of the room
A large area of the room was bare except for a several loops in the wall attached to which were many long, golden chains. As the guards attached the chain to loops on their collars, it was obvious that it had been built solely for this purpose.
Once the restraints were secure, the guards stood at attention, awaiting further orders.
"I have no use for you. You may leave," Trave's voice said lazily.
The men bowed and left.
The sadistic bastard himself was sitting at the foot of a very large bed positioned directly across from where Marth and Roy were chained. He smirked at them and tossed his long, wavy black hair.
"I'm so happy now that you're clean," he said approvingly. "And I've got you right where I want you."
Roy stayed silent. This man was just too dangerous to lose one's temper at. So he fumed inwardly, struggling not to let his fury show too much.
Marth, on the other hand, was plainly terrified. He was trembling slightly and he acted like the shackles and collar burned his skin. His blue hair fell into his face, hiding fearful narrowed eyes and a pale face.
Trave smiled at their expressions. He had seen it all before, but each time it never failed to excite him. He reached for a long box at his side, the box that held all of their belongings.
"I like to know a little bit about all my slaves," he told them as he opened it. "Let's find out about you, shall we?"
The two of them watched silently as he removed all of their things, one by one.
"My, my, what have we here?" He asked when he pulled out their swords. His eyes lingered especially long on Falcion, the ex-prince's blade. Marth's fingers itched. If only he could get his hands on his sword….
"Armor of a high-ranking officer," Trave murmured of Roy's body armor.
But the item that fascinated the slave-owner the most was Marth's small crown.
"Well now, which one of you owned this, I wonder?" Trave asked, holding it up for them to see. Neither of them answered.
Trave set the crown down on the bed and stood up. He walked over to them, keeping maddeningly just beyond their reach. He stopped in front of Marth and smiled.
"Beauty such as yours should not be kept hidden," Trave said, reaching up to brush Marth's hair out of his face. The ex-prince shuddered and took an abrupt step back. Trave smiled and dropped his hand.
"If you don't keep it out of your face, quiet one, I'm afraid I'll have to get it cut off. And that would be such a pity," He said.
Marth glared at him, but did not move, still very much afraid.
Trave shrugged and walked over to Roy. He stood over the young general, smirking.
"I am going to ask you a question and you are going to answer, because I desire to know: Before you became slaves, what were your names and your ranks?"
Roy looked at him calmly.
"I told you earlier that I would not tell you. Why are you pursuing it further?"
"I'm giving you one last chance to tell me willingly before I get angry about it." Trave answered.
One could tell that something was going on in the teen's head from the way his eyes looked downward and darkened.
"… I was called Roy, High General of Altea," he stated flatly.
Trave raised an eyebrow, face questioning.
"So that was your body armor. How did you acquire the title mean for men thrice your age? You cannot be more than fourteen…"
"Fifteen five moons ago," Roy corrected with a growl.
"Ah, what's a year…? Well, go on. I desire to know more," Trave prompted.
"Orphaned at age three after a great fire that burned my village to the ground and was left for dead. The Chief Lieutenant Brock took pity and trained me ever since then. I earned to title by defeating the former general Gaimen in combat and proving my skills to be superior to him."
The smooth slave-owner looked particularly please and stepped forward, taking Roy's face in his hands. The ex-general did not move.
"You never cease to amuse me… Imagine that, a child beating Gaimen… How amusing indeed…" Trave chuckled, stroking the teen's soft cheek.
Roy's eyes narrowed and he jerked away,
"I've told you what you want, so get your hands off me."
"Feh. I'll dome back for you later." He turned to Marth again, "Now, from what I've put together, your companion here is of common birth, unlike you. Prince Marth, was it?"
Marth raised his head. His blue hair fell into his face, but he made no effort to brush it back. Trave could tell that he had recovered most of his control.
"If you know who I was, then you know that the title no longer applies to me," he said. "As I am in exile."
"So the rumors are true then," Trave murmured to himself. "The beautiful Prince Marth, heir to the throne of Altea banished on account of treason. Tell me, my slave of ice, what did you do?"
The young man's eyes blazed and he tried to take a step towards Trave, but the collar around his neck held him back.
"I did nothing!" He snarled, clenching his fists. "Nothing."
Trave smiled at him.
"Ah, at least my words break though your shell, little princeling," the slave-owner purred. "You will tell me eventually- I always get what I want. I see that you're frightened of the chains- perhaps you have been chained before?"
Marth became quiet and stared angrily at the floor. Trave walked back over to his bed and sat down.
"I think I am through with you for the day," Trave said. '"You two amuse me greatly. There will be much time later to continue our… Pursuits. Guards!"
The fours large guards came back immediately and planted themselves before him.
"My lord?" Asked the leader.
"Take these two to their room and I want them treated nicely. Don't hurt them, understand?"
The leader nodded. "Yes master."
They unhooked Marth and Roy from the chains and pushed them towards the door.
TBC….
Vallen: whew… Well, what did you think of this one? Xan and I kind of let our fetishes run away with us there… But we hoped you liked it. ^_^
Xan: Bwahahahaha!! Trave's so fun... Anyways, that's just the tip of the iceberg, kiddies! Prepare for lots more fun in the next chapter! ~_^