My Sins Won't Leave Me

-One-

Author's Notes: After reading the game script to Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrows, I was inspired by that whole bad ending where Soma turns evil because the woman he loves dies and he basically goes insane and kills people. So I got to thinking, "Gee, what would happen if Marth became evil?" Marth isn't necessarily 'evil' in this fic, but that was the idea originally, where Marth was 'evil' instead of Hardin. So I bounced this idea off of my friends on my Livejournal because that's what I do, and I wasn't going to actually write it, because who would read a fic about dark!Marth? Apparently Mark of the Asphodel and Asherien did. So then the real fun began, and I started crafting the story that unfolds in front of you. I enjoyed writing this first chapter, even though it took me a while and survived the move I just went through, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

Warning: There is character death. This is something you should get used to because it will happen throughout the fic. Also as the story progresses, the darker things become, so keep that in mind. And this is an alternate ending to FE11, which takes an actual possible ending (the bad ending) and going based off of that. So FE12 doesn't exist because it is drastically different. There are elements of FE12 in this, naturally. All of this is technically going off of canon because these are all possibilities.

Beta'd by: Asherien, who helped with awkward phrasings and making sure this didn't suck, and helped me when I forgot people's names and how to spell them.

Written for: Mark of the Asphodel, who was really excited to see this, and Asherien, who was the lucky person who got to see it before everyone else.

oOo

"Caeda!"
He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. There was a chill that ran through his body and Marth recognised that chill for what it was - fear. He ran to her pegasus, which landed on the ground gracelessly, feathers everywhere as she swayed on her mount.

"M-Marth..."
He was there to catch her when her strength to stay on Niamh left her. Behind him, Marth heard Norne nock an arrow and let it soar, hitting her mark to mortally wound, but not kill right away. She cursed and fired again, making sure to take the wind into account this time. Marth ignored what was going on around him and focused instead on the woman in his arms. Her armour was cracked right where the arrow pierced through, blood seeping from the wound at a rapid pace. They fell to the ground, Marth on his knees as Caeda laid across his lap, his hand covering the wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow.

This can't be happening, he thought, as she gently placed her hand on top of his, wincing slightly, and looked up at him. Marth could see the pain in her eyes, though she tried to keep her expressions under control. She was always so strong for him and now here she was, in his arms, completely helpless and dying.

"Sire!"
Voices were calling for him, but he didn't hear them, couldn't hear them. The woman he loved but told himself he couldn't have was going to be taken from his grasp by the gods, just as his father and mother were. He held her close to him, mindful of her injury, other hand buried in her hair, his forehead pressed against hers.
"I'm sorry," Marth whispered.
Caeda chuckled weakly. "Don't be, Marth. This... This isn't your fault. I should have been more ca-careful."
Marth's embrace tightened. He knew her time was so short, and yet there were so many things he wanted to tell her...
"Marth..."

A single drop of rain fell on what was left of Caeda's chest armour, followed by another, and another, until a downpour emerged from the clouds. Even the heavens are weeping, Marth thought, not caring if he ended up soaked.

"Marth, I lo-" Marth placed a finger to her lips, shushing her.

"Don't speak," he said.

Caeda coughed and Marth gently wiped away the blood that had collected at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, once so brilliantly blue, like the waters surrounding Talys, looked so dark, so clouded, like the skies shortly before a storm. She palmed his cheek and wiped away tears Marth didn't even know were falling. He wasn't the type to cry; Marth knew she knew this. Perhaps that was why she tried to smile as best as she could. Marth finally removed the hand covering her still seeping wound and placed it over the hand on his cheek, turning into it to lightly kiss at the calloused palm.

"Goodbye, Marth...," she practically whispered, her voice sounding so far away. "Stay strong...for me..."

He felt her body relax in his arms and saw her head loll to the side, the rain making trails down her face, matting her hair to her hair, staining her clothes. Marth felt numb, couldn't breathe, couldn't register the fact that Caeda was in his arms and yet off to where warriors went in the afterlife, to endless fields of asphodel where they would spend the rest of eternity. He kissed her forehead and stared at her face for a moment before kissing her chastely on the mouth.

This is the price of war, Marth thought, as he fell back onto his heels. The dirt below him was quickly turning to mud, marring his clothing, but he didn't care. Caeda was dead and only the Aum staff could bring her back - if it was ever found and someone could use it. He closed Caeda's eyes, feeling sick to his stomach and lost.

"Sire," came a voice. Marth said nothing, found himself unable to say anything. Cain stepped around him so he was in Marth's line of sight and Marth looked at him as if he was some strange being.

"Sire-"

"She's gone." Cain looked at the young woman in his liege's arms and then at his liege before nodding to someone behind Marth. Abel came next to him, grabbed Marth by the arm, and with Cain's help, helped him to his feet, though Marth nearly fell to the earth once more. Marth was less concerned about himself and more about Caeda.

"I need to inform King Mostyn of what has happened," was all Marth said. Abel kept his grip on Marth's arm, preventing him from leaving.

"Sire-"

"Abel." Marth looked to the green haired cavalier. "Let me go."

Abel reluctantly let Marth's arm go, but not before shooting Cain a worried look behind his back.

"Where is camp set up?"

Cain pointed straight ahead, between what appeared to be an alcove of trees. "That way, sire."

Marth nodded his thanks and willed his legs to move towards the encampment where he could prepare Caeda's body for the funeral, and his note to her father bearing the bad news.

It's better if he hears this from me, in my own hand, Marth thought, as he reached his tent. He placed Caeda down gently, handling her as if she were a fragile doll, and turned to the makeshift table where there were sheets of parchements, feather-pens, and quills scattered about. Normally Marth's workspace - if it could be called that - was a little more organised than this, but this attack had surprised them. Medeus wasn't going to let up now, not with them so close... He sat down on the crate that was his chair, the wood groaning in protest, unfastened his mud and blood stained cape and let it lay where it fell behind his seat. He looked at his hand, the one that had tried to stem the bleeding and saw the pale skin had been tinged brown. Stained, like dye for fabric. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the tabletop, his jaw clenched.

"You are their leader," Marth muttered. "You cannot afford to break down now. You must be strong, lift the spirits of your men, show them that you can shoulder this burden alone, just as your ancestor did so many years ago." After all, it wasn't as if someone else could save the world in his place. What was so great about playing the part of the hero when there was little saving and mostly death-dealing? The heroes in the stories his mother had told him as a little boy always saved the princess in the end, after killing the evil dragon. Back then, he had wanted to be that hero, the one to rescue the princess.

He touched his lips absent-mindedly. Her lips had been warm still, and soft, and his heart sank as he remembered the tingle he felt when they connected. He would never feel that again, he knew.

He failed at saving his princess.