Chapter 28

-o-

The Past of a Prince

The Ferris wheel was located high up on a hill – the top jewel of a crown. All of the rides were lit for the evening, bright and colorful like fireworks. The wheel could very likely be what planted such a simile in one's mind. Its twinkling lights flashed a dozen different patterns, the very image of pyrotechnics expanding across a clear midnight sky. The cup-shaped cars were open up to their umbrella-shaped roofs and the closer one came to the top, the colder the night became. Zelda watched the view of the city, a sea of sparkling lights laid out before her, with dull eyes and ignored the strands of hair that blew in her face. At last, she could drop the act.

"Why am I feeling like this?" she said in a voice near to as apathetic as her body. Her arm lay limp on the metallic railing. Her weight was balanced on her hip thanks to her legs, one lazily thrown over the other, being turned in the opposite direction.

"Because of him," Marth said quietly, "and her."

She ought to know that much, which was why he could say that much.

"How should I put it?" she said in the same smooth yet monotonous voice. "When I watch them walking away alone, staying behind alone, I sense a weak feeling somewhere within that wants me to be distressed; to tremble, to be under stress, to feel my heart beat, to speak, to take action. It is stealing all of my energy away. I am left with this – emptiness – and I might prefer it. That is how it should be, the impractical emotions shut away while I focus on what's important, but... this exhaustion? And I can still sense that weak contrasting will inside of me. Why? What do they have to do with it?"

Marth squinted at the city buildings. The lit windows and city lights turned into blurred specks. Why should he have to talk about this? What purpose would it serve him? If he got involved he would most certainly find himself in too deep before long, and to him it did not seem fair to say anything without being involved. It was pretty much pretending to care, and that made something turn inside his stomach. Or maybe he had to? He could not keep Zelda at an arm's length forever. He had to decide if he was going to push her away or pull her to him. He had to speak up, to actually build a bridge himself. If only that was not what he was afraid of: reaching out and getting attached to someone. He feared rejection and all the same he did not want to experience what it meant to succeed: naively forgetting how fragile bridges can be.

"I should be happy for them. I like them both very much and they fit each other. I've thought so since the very beginning," Zelda continued her monologue.

It had been right before his eyes this whole time. He had to face that Zelda had not turned her back on this wretched world like he had. That was the one biggest difference between them. Worse was that Zelda would probably not blame anyone but herself for being miserable. Especially not the pitiful dog following her around wagging its tail. It was obvious that she had been put on a pedestal and jealously guarded by that mutt. Whether she liked it or not, he had effectively invaded every corner of her life, isolated her, and now he thought that it was fine to throw her away like a broken iron lance. No, not quite. He was still suffocating her. He replaced her but did not let go of her chains. The low selfish bastard. And she thought she deserved that?

But why did he care? Care? No. But...

"He's abandoning you," Marth said, and so a man never learnt. He got himself involved. He refrained from speaking his name, but Zelda might be upset if he settled for a more... suitable epithet.

Zelda's head tipped all the way over to the other side when she turned to face him but she looked a lot more alive having something to reason around instead of walking around in a grey mist.

"Link has always been allowed to leave whenever he has wanted to. He journeyed a lot when we were younger, but I could always count on him coming to me first when he returned. Have I grown to take it for granted? I've tried so hard not to tie him down or be too dependent. Am I still asking for too much? Unlike me he's always had a lot of friends. I know that he is not only mine simply because I, for so long, have been only his."

So the imbecile had always been a happy-go-lucky thoughtless possessive jerk completely unaware of how lonely he made her? That's swell.

"I'm that spoilt?" Zelda looked up at the ceiling of the bright purple car they were riding. Nothing about her expression showed any surprise. She accepted it as a fact, but there were more layers to it. She sunk into a state of contemplation, as if the trees were turning into the forest she had not before seen. "How pathetic," she thought aloud.

He had already pulled his pants up and walked into the ocean. There was no turning back now when he was wet up to his knees. He dug gaze into hers and he begged that alone would convey his thoughts, but like before he could no longer rely on the silent connection between them. His heart-rate increased. He flexed his fingers to keep them from undoing the top button of his shirt. It had come to this; words. It meant to actually take an initiative. In so leaving oneself exposed and vulnerable. It might not be worth it, going through this only to sooner or later end up in pain. But who was the one suffering the most?

"I'm so sick of all of this," Zelda sighed, lowering her head. She looked so very small and helpless in the dark, tinted by the transparent colors of the light strands on the huge Ferris wheel and with the circle-shaped bench empty and cold on either side of her. Most of all she looked alone, shrinking away from him.

"Let's run," he said. He felt a wind tousle his hair and he clenched his teeth not to shudder. Having come with such a suggestion almost made him want to jump out of the car. Everything depended on her reply now. He had left himself completely at her mercy.

Zelda tightened her jaw. For most of the day she had felt as if she had gradually been waking up from a deep sleep and now the last traces of it were swept away by the night breeze. Run? Link had warned her not to be alone with Marth. His angered and hurt face was still fresh in her memory, but right now she questioned if she had allowed herself to agree too readily. Taking his feelings into consideration and listening to him was one thing, doing it without taking her own thoughts or feelings into slightest account was blindness.

There was no reason for Link to chaperone her and Marth. Especially not when it meant he could not be alone with Samus. Zelda felt like wrapping her arms around herself – it was cold. Deep down she had known that someday some other girl would need more of his attention than she did, but contrary to what Marth believed Link was not abandoning her. She was being an intrusion because he would not stop looking out for her. Being abandoned, that she had reconciled with a long time ago. It hurt, worse than she had braced herself for, but she could accept it, and that was the first step to handling it. What she could not cope with was being dragged along like a fifth wheel and having it rubbed in her face over and over.

It was time for Link and her to let go of each other's hands. They were already grasping to hold on. It did not have to mean a farewell... Merely accepting things for what they were.

It was not what she had set out for when she came to the Super Smash Bros but she was actually making friends. Marth was not dangerous, no matter what Link thought. This she was certain of. The prince was here with her, now, his bangs moving hypnotically back and forth in front of his eyes. He searched the deepest darkest corners of her heart and it hurt to think about the possibility of losing the one person who would accept nothing but her true self, instead of the other way around. This was what she had always missed. Without him the world would become more icy, colorless and frozen than it had ever been before. She had to trust her own judgement. Not blindly, but it was folly to lead a life presupposing one's every thought to be wrong, unwanted and stupid. Supposing one was less worth than silence and seconds. She had been distrusted, denied and derided before – it could kill a person on the inside to degrade oneself along with everyone else.

When Ganondorf had made himself out to be a humble servant of her father she had seen evil in him. She had not been believed. The same way she now saw good in Marth.

"Yes, Marth," Zelda said, raising her head, "take me away, please."

Samus rolled her eyes at the back of Link's head. Even when they had seen nothing but the bottom of Marth and Zelda's car Link would not let it out of his sight for a second. He really took his job of guarding the ever so important princess seriously.

"I do not think he'll do anything, Link. This place is not grandiose enough for a royal romantic atmosphere," Samus said with a rotating wave at the ceiling. For the first time during the whole ride Link faced her.

"He's already tried to get rid of us once and now he's got her all alone. You do the math."

"Mr. Fancy Pants knows that we have him in clear view. He's got to have felt your glares through the floor."

Samus was not worried. She humored herself with trying to figure out when the deceleration would reach zero, which would tell her which one of the three stations they would end up at. She estimated it to be the first one, meaning they would stop on top of one of the stairs while Marth and Zelda would get off at the bottom.

The wheel snailed its way down the last few inches to a complete stop. Link reached for the simple iron lock that kept the car closed when Samus clenched her fingers around his shoulder. No words passed her lips but Link's eyes jumped to Zelda and Marth. Their door was gliding shut on its own, as if it had been thrown open. Thanks to their light blue clothing he just barely singled them out in the crowd, Marth darting towards a set of stairs while pulling Zelda behind him, before they disappeared in the mass of people.

Link did not register how he got the lock open, but the next second he was leaping out on the platform. Samus was not even a step behind him. He started running, knowing she would keep up. Besides, Samus – being the bounty hunter that she was – would definitely scold him if he let the prey run off.

"That prince is getting too cocky. If he is trying to take Zelda away the two of us have got to be the worst two people he can have on his tail," Samus said in-between breaths. She had already found a good running pace and sprinted up next to Link.

"I let my guard down for a second," the Hylian gritted out and shook his head at the ground.

"Don't worry. When we find him we'll make up for it by shooting his head off."

"You're not wearing your arm cannon."

"This is why I hate dresses."

Louder than anything else that Marth and Zelda could hear was their own breathing. They had found a bench. A poor wooden misplaced bench behind the pretty facade of the fairy tale castle. Empty fiber cans lay scattered in dirty corners together with polka striped cotton candy sticks. A dark backside of a wall cut off the view of the whirligig and its flashing lights. Carnival music played softly in the background, making the noise of people less noticeable, but it was hard for any sound to reach in here.

Marth took a deep breath. Really, what was wrong with him today? Since when was he the spontaneous kind of guy? He ran his fingers through his bangs and glanced through them at Zelda. She was bending over; having shaken her head she pressed her palm to her forehead and glanced back at him.

"What's wrong with me today?" she sighed. It almost made him smile.

"There is nothing wrong with you," he said, his voice soft as velvet. "If so the same must go for me."

"There is nothing wrong with you," she said sweetly and leaned to the side to look him in the eyes when she spoke.

"Ergo, there is nothing wrong with us," Marth declared, leaning back and putting an arm over the back of the bench. They both knew that in reality it was the other way around; there was plenty wrong with them. The silence turned into quite a pleasant one as they both thought about this. But as it dragged on something changed. Zelda's eyes moved over to the whirligig. She closed them. Opened them.

"You know, Marth," she said, barely louder than a whisper. "I wish that it would be enough, but I also know for a fact that there are a lot of things wrong with me. I've tried to run from it, deny it, fight against it and it the end I find that I am only moving in circles."

Somehow she always pulled the carpet from under his feet. From the very first moment he had laid eyes on her. His lips felt dry. Had they not been spontaneous enough already? It was their thing to agree in silence. It was that special moment of turning to each other and realizing that they had the same words on their tongues. At least let him have those silences with her. Words could never be as reliable or powerful as the feeling of them dying.

"You're saying the only destination is believing there is something wrong with you?" he said.

"Yes."

Marth moistened his lips, felt the cold air clash with the warmth from his mouth.

"The same goes for me."

He could feel her stare at him.

"Have you ever... loved someone?"

Marth knew what she meant by asking such a thing. It was not as innocent and simple as it might at first appear. She wondered if he had ever experienced anything like the feeling of love people described, whether it be for a kitten, a family member or a lover. That she asked under these circumstances meant that she also doubted if she had ever felt it, for anyone.

"There are a lot of people that I love," Marth found himself saying. It sounded awkward and unfamiliar, like when you hear yourself on a recording, but the words kept on coming as if he fumbled to find the stop button. He was rambling about people, some he had never mentioned to her before, from his past without giving much of an explanation of his history with them. "My sister... Elice, she is probably the closest one to me. I could never deny my love for her. If I ever turned away from her it would be because I cannot allow myself to cling to her like a lost child. It's complicated because sometimes that is what I want to do the most."

Zelda was watching him intently. She kept her lips closed and breathed quiet short breaths through her nose. Since he started talking he could not remember that he had seen her blink once. He felt strange, although not from being watched like that. It was the same feeling like when you run until you can run no more: Weak enough for the body to give in and collapse. Stronger than when one's feet first started moving. Warm and relaxed but still feeling the heart pound agitatedly and not understanding that the run is over.

"Is what you're describing love?" Zelda said, more to herself although her eyes was still rummaging through the depths of his.

Marth cut her search short when he arched his head back. Far above the square walls and the crenels of the fairy tale castle the sky took by. No stars were visible. The night was a dark mass of infinite depth. To tell the truth, he had planned to answer, "never. I have never loved anyone," but he had said, "I could never deny..." Had he finally embraced that it was not so easy turning one's back on people? What had he been running away from anyways?

The past was more distant than a dream – images rimmed by a misty light – but never would those irretrievable years disappear from his mind. The smells, the sights, the sounds. Everything was still there. There had been a garden with tickling grass and a pond bright as a mirror. It had not been perfect, but nothing had been more troublesome than that it would be forgotten if one sat down near the edge of the still water. It was an utopia and, in fact, there was only one thing to actually be called troublesome: that was whenever the young prince's father was angry with him. His entire being came to strive for a brief smile or the smallest sign of affection. He evolved a keen mind for anything and everything that suited that man's liking. He envied the soldiers and the appreciative nods his father usually gave them. He was jealous of the men, the horses and even the dogs with the privilege of going hunting with him. He went as far as to compete with Altea's flag. The one thing, besides his mother, that could bring tenderness into the king's eyes was its green and white colors swaying in the wind.

Sometimes his efforts paid off, like the time he had shouted and kicked until the lackeys fetched him the green and white clothes. He remembered the exact words that had echoed from above him, and the weight of the large hand that had been placed upon his head.

"This boy understands the pride of being an Altean prince."

Often it took more than a change of clothes to be acknowledged. It was a hard climb to the top where he could be seen, and it was a terrifying fall that awaited every time he came up short. His first time hunting had been a disaster. No one had told him he would have to kill an innocent animal. His father's stern lips had been pressed tightly shut on the way home and he had not dared to break the silence. If only he had been as cautious about the plea that had entered his eyes. Had he not looked so pitiful his father might have let it stay at that but, as it now was, it became too much for silence alone to serve as punishment.

At this point his mother would usually step in to defend him – her love was as steadfast as the North Star. His small fists would close around her silk skirt and he would bury his face close against her. Everything about her was nice; her smell, her looks, her kindness... But when he held his arms out to be picked up everyone in the room stared at the floor. The queen knew that she better not weaken him so she closed her eyes and endured. She fought for him but she would not console him, not until he was granted a private audience with her. That too had to be decided by his father – like everything else in his life.

During the most troublesome moments, when his father was very mad, the garden became his refuge. Discerning the tangerine colored fish hiding in the viridian water was soothing, and distractive for the mind. He never had to sit there alone for long. Soon enough the softest hands would run over his shoulders and arms would hold him close. His sister's cheek would rub against his hair and he would feel her breathe in and give him a squeeze. She was a few years older than him and his bridge to the grownup world. She always took the risk of searching him out when he had no one to turn to. She could explain things so that they did not seem as unreasonable or unfair anymore, and she always did it while sparing his feelings. He could remember her fingers running soothingly through his hair, over and over until she had finished speaking. He often hid his face, to hide that all his troubles were already forgotten, to prolong the moment.

His mother and sister's unconditional love and support made it impossible for him not to love them a hundred times back. Yet he took them for granted. He took for granted that they would always be smiling, always be listening and always be fussing over him. To be honest, he took for granted that it was in their nature to smell nice, to nurture, to love, and to look pretty, soft and inviting to hug at all times. In truth, they put up a front when they were with him. They let everything revolve around him, as did he, and they and everything that they were disappeared like the stars of the night in the radiance of the morning sun.

They did it because they knew he needed them. They watched with sad eyes his desperate struggle to make his father turn around and see him. Like the time he had climbed onto the huge oak desk to reach one of the ornamental swords on the wall. His father had called him "a healthy boy" when he came dragging it along the floor. In the background his mother's eyes had widened, but she had said nothing.

Even when he knew he brought his mother pain Marth pushed it away from his mind. This was his battle and this time of sadness the sacrifice for the joy that was to come. If he could prove himself she would never have to look at him with those eyes again. The only reason why his father refused to let them all be together – a complete and happy family portrait – was because he, Marth, was doing something wrong, or was not good enough. There was a reward system in function. It was easy to see. When he was good he was permitted to meet with his mother and sister. When he was not he was frozen to the core by one of his father's icy glares. If he could always be good his father would be proud of him and nothing would keep the family apart any longer. If only he could always be good.

The breakthrough came because of a small mistake. In his struggle to compete with the king's work Marth made it seem as if he shared his father's passion for Altea – that he worshiped the very soil under his feet. This was the best thing that could have happened. This was what his father wanted; an heir worthy of his beloved Altea. It took a while for the young prince to decipher the signs but in the end he understood. At last the blindfold was removed and all of a sudden it became so much easier to choose his next move, like the time his father had been on his way to an inspection of the army.

"I want to go too," Marth had pleaded.

"That's my boy," the king had chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Perhaps you will make me proud one day."

He had been dressed up and riding in his father's carriage. It had been a cold season but the sun had been shining brightly upon his father's face that had beamed at him. It was the most blissful feeling one could ever experience. They had something to share. As long as the bond was there he could grab on to it and pull himself closer.

"Sire, anent the fourth and fifth regime..."

"Pray do tell. Have you established the guilt of the two colonels?"

"We have testimony of burnt letters but only on one part, sire. Content we can make a legible guess about but we are inclined to believe in the innocence of the second man."

"By the rule of elimination he must be involved in the plotting of the revolt."

Even though Marth did not understand everything he hung onto every word. He stared up at his father and the general he was speaking with while trying to take in as much of their conversation as possible. He dared not blink in case something important would slip him by. One taste of success was a stronger drive than any scorns or glares had ever been. He saw a light at the end of a tunnel and it mesmerized him. He headed for it without caring if he tripped over rocks or if there was gold peeking through cracks in the stony walls.

One of his clearest memories was the autumn ball. That was the first time his father let him join a conversation, introduced him and explained things to him in person. Marth had been bursting with pride. This was the besought prize for persistently playing the role of the invisible bystander. At this point he could also say that he was sincerely proud the be a prince of Altea. He loved his country with all his heart. The army inspections had become a true pleasure. It moved him to see the amount of men ready to die for the same pride and devotion as his own. He was completely absorbed by leading the army of these brave and self-sacrificing men. Ruling Altea was his purpose, the self-fulfillment he had always missed.

The autumn ball itself was of little interest. Even if Marth was old enough to carry his own sword and be a part, if yet a small part, of the political conversations he was not old enough to dance or to drink (although he sipped on a glass of red wine to fit in with the adults). The colors of the dresses, like flowers coloring a garden, were a fancy backdrop to him and nothing more. That was not to say that his father's acknowledgement was the only reason why the ballroom, the dancing couples, the tall figures of the adults had been forever burnt into his mind.

"Now you listen closely, my son. Tonight I am expecting guests of the greatest importance. We are on friendly terms with our neighbors and I plan to take advantage of this night of joy and frivolity to tie closer bonds. One must always see to himself first but this is not to say that a king should not surround himself with friends – quite the contrary. If our great nation is ever threatened we would want take use of whatever forces we are offered. You already now that lately we have been brought news about Doluna's rise. We must not take it lightly."

Marth had nodded slowly. His father's hand had been resting on his shoulder when he was led over to a man in a long dark tunic and a mantle blacker than ebony.

"My son Marth," his father had introduced him after the mandatory greeting and smalltalk.

"How do you do, little prince?" the man, whom Marth had found out was King Jiol of Gra, said.

His mouth had felt dry. His father had spent a lot of time dragging up past blunders and fiascos to give a clear example of what was out of question on this very important evening. This man had a strict face – one that reminded Marth that mistakes were forbidden. Had it not been because he knew that his father would be annoyed and scold him he would have grabbed his big warm hand when Jiol squatted down in front of him.

"Is he shy?"

Up close Marth thought that the king of Gra looked a lot friendlier. They grey beard had a warm earthy tone to it and Jiol was speaking to him on the same eye-level, like an equal. Now he better smoothen over that he had made himself out to be shy.

"I'm not shy," Marth said with a lot of force and raised his chin so that he came to look down on the old king. "I'm just not sure I like being called 'little prince' by you. I'm the descendant of the great hero Anri and the heir to his mighty blade Falchion – much as I am the heir to the throne of Altea. When your kingdom of Gra does business with me in the future I do not think you'll use that tone with me."

The two men chuckled heartily and in that same moment the doors of good fortune opened for Marth. He spent the rest of the evening as the centre of attention and entertaining the adults in the same manner. From thereby on his father always kept him nearby, at his side.

His world had truly been an utopia. The talks with Elice in the garden. His mother checking that the lackeys had done a good job dressing him. After the autumn ball he came to know lots of important people and saw them a lot more frequently. Everyone greeted him with a smile. The enemies were nothing more than letters on a map or the losing side in one of the many stories about past wars.

Everything had changed in an instant.

(A/N)

An utopia? Is it really, Marth? I had originally intended to include tidbits of the prince's background here and there in the story but then why did I not give a few clues when Marth and Zelda was on their date? Truth is they did open up quite a bit during their dinner even though it sounded more like shallow polite talk (which Samus interpreted it as). I pretty much skipped it that time, limited it to "they had a lot in common" and now it all started pouring out.

Of course Marth's story is not canon. I thought it up in my early teenage years based on what I had then read about from more or less reliable sources. There is more to come and I had wanted the chapter to continue but I ended it halfway through because, well, Marth and Zelda have a tendency to make thins drag more than any of the other characters. I think people know what is going to happen and I hope that it does not seem as if I am trying to excuse Marth's jerky attitude by making him a victim of a tragic past. even if I had intended to give people a more sympathetic view of him I suspect that we're too far gone for that. So far I am not even sure about if he is worth any pity whatsoever. It is just that sometimes I feel that I forget that I have not shared some things with the readers. What good will it do if it remains inside my head?

But, you might be thinking right now, where's the "I love you"? She promised us an I love you! I've been waiting for months and then I get an emo chapter with no romance whatsoever?

Uhm, earlier I said that I cut this off halfway through, right? The thing is that the confession was supposed to come afterwards so next chapter you will definitely get that "I love you" (*hides behind Bowser* …It might still end up being totally anticlimactic though). After this is done with Marth will have to take a step into the background and allow Link to take center stage again. It feels as if it's about time.

Thank you for reading. Thank you all you wonderful reviewers. It brings a tear to my eye that there are still people willing to sit down and review this old jumbled mess of a story. I hope I did not ruin people's Christmas Spirit by throwing this Marth chapter at you and breaking promises. Maybe it is easier to guess who will say "I love you" now?