Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Empty Hand Loser ❯ chapter 8 ( Chapter 9 )

A/N: I was in a bad mood when I wrote this. I think it shows.

 

Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

 

 

Ganondorf's room was dark. The walls were lined with swords, weapons and books. I caught the distinct medicinal scent of herbs when I stepped inside. He put down the book he was reading and stood up from his armchair. He bowed.

 

“Master.”

 

The smirk was plain on his face.

 

I ignored it.

 

“I need something from you,” I said without preamble.

 

“Yes?”

 

“A potion,” I said. “Something to cure memory loss.”

 

x x x

 

Sometimes, after they had been together, he was sick. Pain and humiliation gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He would kneel in the bathroom and vomit, heaving, panting. Relief would flood his senses afterwards, but only temporarily. Deep down, the sickness never really left him.

 

That was the way things were when he was with Roy. Marth had gotten used to it. He had lost sense of who he was.

 

“If we're gonna keep doing this, you could at least pretend to enjoy it.”

 

He was no good at those kinds of lies. His body would betray him. It always did.

 

He hadn't considered the cost until he had to face himself in the mirror one day. That dead, used-up look was his own. What remained of his honor was fading, fading because even after the sickness, he always went back.

 

The tension between them had been real since the first day. When it finally broke, it had killed so many possibilities while setting others in stone. Marth had then yet to realize just how far he could fall. He didn't hit bottom for a long time.

 

They beat each other mercilessly in training; they talked sometimes, usually into the early morning hours; they saw each other behind the Master's back. They became almost-friends, but not. They became…something else entirely.

 

Roy was many things. He was a fighter who trained long and hard only to fall short of his goal. He would never be a champion. At times, he was just a kid who could barely touch Marth's hand. But Roy could be a monster too, and Marth was trapped between the two.

 

Eventually, things rose to critical mass, the breaking point. Roy had to take his frustrations out on someone.

 

“Your problem,” Roy had said once, “is that empty look on your face. I can't stand your face. You never seem to show any expressions except for pain. The only time I know you're not some kind of a doll is when I'm hurting you.”

 

“I am not a masochist,” Marth had replied.

 

“Then quit acting like one. Quit letting people take advantage of you.”

 

“No one takes advantage of me.”

 

“Oh no?” This was said with sarcasm, followed by a sigh. “And once again you ruin the mood.”

 

The next day after an argument, Roy would be smiling again, telling jokes, reaching out to take his hand. This usually lasted a day or two. Until something bad happened. Then it was back to the inexplicable anger, his dissatisfaction with himself, with Marth, with everything.

 

Right before he left, Roy was in one of his bad moods. He shied away from all physical contact. Marth had tried to find out what was wrong.

 

“I'm sorry,” he had said. “If it's because of me, I'm sorry.” When Roy didn't respond, Marth reached out to him. Roy roughly pushed him back.

 

“Go away. I don't want you.”

 

The next day, Roy left. Marth nursed his pain quietly to himself and wondered if he would ever have to be sick again.

 

x x x

 

The fire crackled. Marth turned to Roy, who was sitting next to him, staring into the depths of the flames.

 

“I've decided,” Marth said.

 

Roy turned to him. “Decided what?”

 

“Maybe you are better off this way. Without your memory.

 

“Maybe we can be friends this time.”

 

x x x

 

Following Falcon's map, I walked the path up the hillside. Up ahead, I could see the crumbling structure of the shrine. Smoke billowed from a hole in the roof.

 

Pichu shifted weight on my shoulder.

 

The landfill sat to my right. A few crows circled overhead, hopped through the trash, rummaging. Pitfall had its own stench. I smelled it no matter where I was in that disgusting place. The farther uphill I went though, the less the odor bothered me.

 

It was cold, and the sky looked like it would rain. Only my black coat kept me from freezing.

 

“The sooner we get this over with,” I said to Pichu, “the sooner we can get out of this shithole.” He chu-ed in reply.

 

I reached the shrine. There didn't seem to be anyone around. I stepped through the doorway.

 

And almost wished I had knocked.

 

They sat close together by the fire, centimeters away from a kiss.

 

“Shit!”

 

They turned and looked at me. Marth's eyes widened. Roy just stared. They both rose to their feet.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Roy asked.

 

“Master…” Marth said.

 

I crossed my arms and gave him a stone look. Roy glanced between Marth and me. “Master…” he murmured. His hand went for his sword.

 

“Pichu!” I called. The rodent leapt down from my shoulder and crouched in front of me in an attack-ready stance, electric pouches buzzing.

 

Roy had his sword drawn, but Marth stepped in front of him.

 

“No need for violence,” he said firmly. “I'd rather just talk about this.”

 

I nodded. “Agreed.” I stared at Roy, who wasn't moving to put away his sword. Marth turned and guided his hand to sheath the sword. I called Pichu back. He scrambled up my leg, torso, and back onto my shoulder.

 

Marth tried to speak. “Master, I--”

 

But I cut him off. “You should have known better.” My voice sounded harsh. It was meant to. “Out of everyone, I trusted you the most.”

 

“Everyone leaves,” he said. “Just for a little while. It's normal. That's what you told me.” His voice was soft, easing the conversation away from a verbal battle. Marth was a diplomat. He didn't need the sword to get himself out of bad situations. I was convinced he knew how to talk himself out of trouble.

 

“You know the rules,” I said.

 

He bowed. “I apologize for my actions. I was out of line.”

 

I sighed. He knew just what to say. And I hadn't thought it out this far. I had nothing planned, no course of action.

 

“I'm not going to punish you, Marth,” I said wearily. “I'm just tired of running around trying to keep track of everyone. I'll overlook this transgression if you come back with me now.”

 

He kept his head bowed. “Master, if I may, I would now like to ask for that extended leave of absence.”

 

“You're pushing it,” I snapped.

 

Marth was silent. Roy looked on as if he did not approve.

 

“Who are you,” Roy challenged, “to be giving orders like that?”

 

Good fucking question.

 

“I'm Marth's master,” I told him. “I am yours as well, even if you don't remember that.”

 

“I don't serve anyone but myself,” Roy said.

 

“Really? Cuz I have a contract that says otherwise.”

 

I produced it from a pocket, stepped forward and handed it to him. He snatched the paper from my hand and looked it over. Then he gave it back.

 

“This means nothing to me,” he said.

 

“Don't recognize your own signature anymore, Roy?” I folded the paper and placed it back into my pocket. “It doesn't matter. It was signed by you. I'm just here to remind you of your obligations.”

 

“I have no obligations to you. We're in Pitfall. The rules are different here than they are at your house.”

 

He had a point. There was no law here.

 

“Marth doesn't have to go with you either, if he doesn't want to,” Roy continued.

 

“You wouldn't be so worried about him,” I said, “if you remembered him. I remember asking you once if you cared for him. You said no. And I don't think you were lying.

 

“The two of you had a…well, complicated relationship. I don't think it was founded on love.”

 

I looked at Marth. “I guess he must be a better person now that he doesn't remember what it was like for him to constantly lose to you.”

 

Inside my pocket, my hand curled around a glass vial. The ace up my sleeve. It was the only card I had to play. I pulled it out and tossed it into the air. It glimmered by the firelight. Roy caught it in his hand.

 

“Consider it a gift. I give you your memories back.”

 

I heard a slight intake of breath from Marth. I had guessed correctly.

 

“As for you…” I turned to Marth. “You have a day. If you're not back by the end of tomorrow, then you might as well not come back at all.”

 

I turned and walked away.