"…I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Roy stirred, felt cool fingertips against his temple. The promise in that voice coaxed the fire user from his short sleep. It could only be…

"Marth?" He stretched, feeling a tight discomfort in his overworked body and was disappointed when the king's soothing hand retreated. "You're back."

He was back.

Roy bolted upright.

"Did you find anything? Did you find my mother? Is she okay? Can I see her?" Roy halted his eager bombardment when he noticed the melancholy blue of Marth's eyes. His excitement quickly faded.

"She is okay, isn't she?" Something was very wrong. Marth's features were grey, sunken, his shoulders slumped. The calm quality of his voice carried a remorseful tremor.

"Your mother is fine."

"Where is she?" The ice user's gaze flickered away briefly as he chose careful words. But before Marth could open his mouth, Roy saw it in his face.

"You left her! You left my mother in the clutches of those monsters!" The guilt-ridden king turned pained eyes on the boy and tried to speak again, to explain himself, but Roy wouldn't have it. Clenched knuckles met pale flesh. Marth hit the ground hard. "You had the chance to save her and you left her?!"

Roy followed him off the bed. He knelt atop the king's stomach, pulling his fist back as far as he could before releasing it into that regal face. Those aristocratic cheekbones bruised his fists, but he couldn't stop hitting him. Yes, he could burn him, but this anger was too visceral. He wanted to use his hands. He hit him again. Marth's blood spattered across the stone floor.

Roy watched the gloriously horrible red specks fade into the awaiting stones. The Lowell stones. They were in the Lowell room. Marth's ancestor had designed this room to defend his blood. And now Lowell blood had been spilt. Roy paused, expecting the walls to exact swift, brutal vengeance. When none came, Roy stood and dragged the son of a bitch up the stairs; intending to spill much more Lowell blood, he wouldn't tempt the elements. He threw the feeble king forward, and Marth stumbled, but didn't fall. Good. Roy wanted him on his feet, facing him. He hit him again. Marth had to steady himself against a wall, but didn't go down. He looked up at the fire user, grief smeared across his face.

"Roy… I'm sorry." Roy drove a fist into his gut. Marth crumpled over the boy's arm. "I'm sorry." Sorry didn't help his mother; he knew that too well. Roy tore away from the man curled around his punch, ready to strike him again. The young king straightened, offering himself up to more abuse. It was what the traitor deserved.

Roy paused.

Traitor?

He moved in for another attack.

Had Marth betrayed him?

Yes, undoubtedly, but betrayal didn't exist without trust.

Roy hit him again, sinking sore knuckles into Marth's ribs. The sickening crunch of bone echoed off of silent walls. Roy wasn't sure whose bones he was breaking.

Trust.

He couldn't.

Survival left him few options and trusting was a foolish one.

But he had trusted the king; from the moment Marth had knelt before him in that cell, Roy had placed a blind faith in him. Marth had been hope. Marth had been food and shelter and clothing and learning. Marth had been strength and purity and courage and justice. Marth had smiled for him, even after Roy had broken his word; Marth had waited to hear his reasons why, believed his unbelievable words. Marth had taken all of Roy's furious outbursts with understanding. Even gentle Ellis made him feel weak and ashamed, but Marth had always accepted his frustration, was accepting it now.

Yes, Roy had trusted him, trusted him as no other. And Marth had let him down.

Hot, angry tears rolled down his face as he hit him again, but the blow carried none of his previous fervor. No, Marth had not let him down. Roy had not doubted for a moment that the king's words were true. He knew his mother was safe. He knew that Marth regretted leaving her behind. He just hated that he was here and she was not. He hated that there was nothing to be done.

He fell against Marth's battered chest, steadying himself on the solidarity that was Altea's king. He was so tired. He didn't know how long he had been fighting, how long he had been without hope.

And now that he finally had it, he couldn't stand the thought of losing it again.

He felt Marth's arms close around him, strong and reassuring. Roy pressed in further, burying his face in the king's throat. His skin was so cold, so good against his own burning forehead. He smelled of blood and sweat and dirt, but beneath them all, the ever present scent of new-fallen snow lingered on him.

Roy's legs gave out beneath him. He was so tired. Marth, too, must have felt the strain because he slid down the wall until the two of them collapsed together on the floor. Roy couldn't let go of the young king just yet. He needed this feeling, this assurance that there was someone willing to fight beside him.

"Roy… I'm sorry." Marth's words were sincere, soft, but Roy heard them, and he heard every undercurrent they carried: the curse, the promise, the regret, the reassurance. "I'm sorry. I couldn't."

Roy relaxed under the apologetic murmurs. The cool of Marth's body slowed his frightened heart, eased his anxiety.

"Is she really alright?" Roy's small, strained whisper ghosted through the room.

"Yes."

--

Marth's sleep had been deep, eased by the sweet warmth settled in his lap. And when he finally awoke, it was to the smoky aroma haloing Roy's disheveled head. The young king drew his arms from their loose arrangement around the boy's waist and curled them over his shoulders. He would allow no more weight to fall upon these shoulders; Roy carried enough burden.

Roy had seen enough evil.

And despite the horrors he had suffered, he had escaped that twisted prison whole. Or nearly so. They had taken his memories.

Marth slid his fingers across the boy's nape, his bare neck burning. Roy should be lost. He had no past, no identity, no certainty. But he was a true fire user, blazing in the dark.

The young king tightened his hold on the boy. Marth could too clearly see the hands of those ruffians on him. The cold rage of the previous night began to creep into his heart.

Until he heard a knock at the door.

Both boys started.

Roy was instantly alert and on his feet, but one look from the arising king calmed his nerves. Marth already knew who called. He had known that knock since he was just a boy.

"Sheeda."

"And a very good morning to you, your highness!" She took both of his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles, despite the absence of rings. "The Princess of Talis has come to pay her respects to the unwell King of Altea." She gave a very low bow, complete with courtly flourishes, but when she lifted her head again, the sparkle in her face faded. Sheeda grabbed her friend by the chin and twisted his head to the side, getting full view of the vicious bruise swelling on his cheek.

Those blue eyes grayed. And then narrowed, catching sight of Roy and Roy's battered knuckles.

Sheeda roughly released Marth's chin.

"Trustworthy, hm?"

"Trustworthy enough." The king smiled with a sweetness that only Sheeda could find aggravating. She gave a frustrated huff, but changed the subject.

" Oguma's here too."

Marth raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Sure enough, the tall, broad young man stepped out from behind the door and nodded curtly by way of greeting.

"I told you Talis would send someone!"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"Talis sent her General?"

Sheeda huffed again, but this time with a considerably haughtier air.

"If he had come as my General, I would have turned him away, but he came as my husband."

"Oh yes, the only man in the world with any, however little, right to command you." Marth grinned cheekily. The princess smacked him on the shoulder for his teasing, but quit her joy when he flinched. She glared again at the fire user, who stood at a respectful distance, but Marth successfully diverted the irate girl's attention with a pinch on the cheek. "Well, aren't you going to let your beloved in?"

She swatted his hand away, turning to wave her husband through the door. Oguma was handsome and scruffy, his mouth perpetually quirked with confidence. His slicked back hair, hair the color of the desert, made his brow especially prominent, but his smart hazel eyes drew all attention from it

"I don't mean to make our meeting brief, Marth, but my darling wife is required in Talis."

Sheeda blew a raspberry at his comment.

"I am not required. As long as my father remains king, my royal obligation includes only international relations, in which I am currently engaging." She gave Marth's cheek a retaliatory pinch.

"Then it is settled! The two of you shall enjoy Altea's hospitality as long as you like."

Oguma's mouth tightened impatiently. His mission would be a failure if he didn't convince Sheeda to return and this chance to impress her father would be wasted. Marth sympathized with his plight; both young men had been trying to win back the Talisian king's good favor for the past three years.

Marth gathered his two friends, his closest allies, clapping the good general on the shoulder and throwing an arm around the pretty princess. But despite the pleasant nature of his actions, his expression was anything but. He lowered his voice, keeping it out of Roy's ears.

"I need the two of you here. Altea is on the brink of war. The council has all but decided to send Altea's knights to aid Lycia in her struggle and I believe a second front has already opened." Sheeda and Oguma held their expressions calm, but their eyes were stern. "The attempt on my life came from within Altea's borders."

"Garnef?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But a surer enemy has set foot on Altean soil. Navahl and I confirmed their presence last night." Sheeda slipped a reassuring arm around Marth's waist. "Altea's knights will be stretched too thin and my own personal allies are dwindling; I need a plant user I can trust. Altea needs Talis' military might."

The three of them stood silently for several moments. The young king knew what he was asking, what it could cost them, and he would not begrudge them if they refused.

Sheeda stepped back.

Marth held his breath.

"But of course, Altea shall have the services of Talis' finest plant user for as long as she requires them!" The bright-eyed girl gave him an exaggerated curtsy, almost kneeling.

"And Altea shall have Talis' armies."

Marth smiled his relief and appreciation. Sheeda grinned and thrust matter-of-fact hands on her hips.

"Well, what did you think we were going to say?"

--

Roy watched in silence as the cheery princess and her stout husband left the room. She hadn't spoken a word to him, but her furious stares had promised the pain of death if he put one toe out of line. So throughout the entire royal exchange, he had kept his mouth shut.

But now that he was alone with the king, he felt like he could finally breathe again. And speak.

"Unwell?"

The young king turned suddenly, as if startled. Those normally steady, icy eyes showed fear and uncertainty, but only for a moment. Marth anchored his gaze to the fire user and calm settled over the turmoil.

"What?"

"Sheeda said…" Maybe he had said the wrong thing.

"Oh yes… don't worry about it. It was just… Sheeda." The king seemed distracted, pale, short of breath. Marth was lying. Something was wrong with him. And the night before last, he had come to Roy's bedroom in a similar state. At the time, he had not thought twice of it since their training session had been so intense, but what if Marth was really sick? Sudden anxiety overtook him. He needed to know the truth.

"I absolutely will worry about it!" As the words tumbled from his mouth, Roy's anxiety became anger. Marth couldn't trust him with something so simple? They were allies now, weren't they? Fighting the same enemy, facing the same evil. Roy might even call Marth friend if the king could find it in himself to confide something, anything in him. "You need to tell me what is going on in this castle I must now call home, in the country I must now serve."

The young king sighed heavily and pushed his bangs back in a show of distress. "I'm sorry Roy. I don't want you to feel that you must be here. You can forget our agreement; you owe Altea nothing. You are free to go as you please."

"That isn't what I meant!" No, Roy wanted to stay. But he also wanted to give his overly repentant companion a good smack over the head for even suggesting it. "You have nothing to be sorry for! Now, tell me what is wrong with you!"

Marth's half-smile was almost heartbreaking.

"Alright. I'm sorry, you're right. You should know." Roy blinked his surprise. The young king almost never relayed information to him. Half the time, Roy didn't even know where he was. Marth ran his fingers through his bangs again. "The other night, an assassination attempt was made on my life. Someone tried to poison me."

Roy couldn't even respond. He knew that particular terror too well, and he was sure Marth was equally familiar.

"Of course, the next morning, Sheeda had me in perfect working order again, but if my assailant knew I was well, another attempt might be made. And I might not be so lucky a second time.

"So, I asked my most trusted plant user to keep my health a secret. All but a few believe that I am tragically bedridden."

"Who does know?"

"Ellis and Navahl, Sheeda and Oguma and now you." A few indeed. Despite his self-righteous demand for the information, he felt proud to be among those few. But doubt still lingered in his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Marth smiled apologetically and this time, ran his fingers through Roy's wayward hair. "I didn't want you to worry yourself over me; there is enough on your shoulders."

Marth's entangled hand idled a moment longer before he pulled away and straightened into a more formal posture. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I have another matter to attend to. Ellis should be here shortly." And the young king took his leave.

Alone, Roy had only his thoughts.

Marth was so careful with him. And though it infuriated him, Roy knew the delicacy was meant to be respectful and considerate. He tried to imagine what Marth carried on his shoulders, how great the responsibility that fell on Altea's boy king. Roy had only himself and his mother to concern him, but Marth had the well-being of every Altean on his mind. And without a second thought, he had taken Roy's plight as his own.

But no longer.

"I swear it, Marth, I will never burden you again."