"Fubuki no Kaen"

(MarthRoy)

Authors: Xan and Vallen
Rating: R
Warnings: One thing… Or, lot's of things: This is a story with eventual 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: The start of a long fic. Xan and I were playing Super Smash Brothers Melee one late night and said, "Hey, wouldn't that make a great fic?" or something to that extent. Hey, it was late, I don't remember. But this chapter starts out with Fate dealing Marth and Roy a bad hand of cards.

Xan: Well, yeah… I guess that's about all that needs to be said. You know the characters, or else you wouldn't be reading this, would you? We hope you enjoy!

"I do pronounce you, Prince Marth of Altea, banished from this kingdom."

He stood tall, a mask of dignity frozen on his passive face. Dark blue strands of hair fell down, nearly to his eyes, and cut short at the nape of the young man's neck.

"You have been cut from your rank and all ties to the royal household…" The commanding voice droned on. It was a voice he had grown to hate.

When all was finished, two burly guards carrying large weapons grabbed him roughly. He made no move to retaliate.

The speaker, a tall, middle-aged man with short dark raven-colored hair and wearing elegant gold and black body armor smirked at him. The smirk disappeared before anyone else could see, but it lingered in his triumphant orange-ember eyes.

The man who would be king, only eighteen years old and just barely a man, felt those smoldering orange eyes burn into his back as the guards moved to escort him out.

'Damn you, Gaimen,' Marth thought, suppressing a growl. 'You may have the rest of the Kingdom fooled, but you and I both know better.'

The exiled Prince turned his head and gave Gaimen a look of purest ice with his intense cobalt blue eyes. Then he turned and allowed himself to be forced out.

Gaimen felt a shiver go up his spine. That look- that look that held the freezing danger of a glacier frightened him. Banished or no, Prince Marth was still a very dangerous man.

But- Gaimen settled back on his throne- he would no longer be a threat. With his two biggest threats now eradicated, Gaimen was free to seize the throne.

~~~~~~~~

Marth gave Gaimen's henchmen no problems as they took him to a small stone structure a ways from the main castle. They had taken away his sword and although he could take the both of them and defeat them, he would only be caught again. Better to wait until they were farther away.

Once inside the small building, they stripped him of his fine armor and clothes.

'You ain't no Prince anymore, pretty boy," one of the goons leered at him with broken yellow teeth and breath that stank of stale wine and rancid meat. He had dark hair that was short and greasy, his eyes beady and scrutinizing. He grabbed Marth's small crown off his head and dropped it on the floor.

Marth stood, passive and defiant at once. He said nothing, but just looked at them.

"Here, yer majesty. Put these on," the second cohort handed Marth a pile of clothes. This one had lighter brown hair and he too looked like he hadn't bathed in quite some time. He was just as bulky as the first and his eyes were a light brown. The ex-prince pulled the clothes on.

He was now wearing a blue tunic with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath and blue leggings. All of them were worn and ripped in a few places. His own boots he was allowed to keep.

"In you go, into the Royal bedroom," one of the henchmen said, shoving Marth into an iron cage. "Nighty-night." They left, laughing.

Marth sat, hugging his knees to his chest. A stray piece of hair fell into his face as it always did and he brushed it back. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he sensed another person in the room, specifically, in the cage.

"I heard them talking about you," a voice stated, the speaker's voice having a youthful quality to it. But the tone implied different. "Are you the Prince?"

The shadowed figure sat in a corner, hiding any features that would be visible in daylight. He spoke with deep contempt in his voice and kept his head bowed.

Marth heaved a heavy sigh. That sigh was the only sign of his inward anger and turmoil.

"It is true that I was Prince Marth," he said calmly.

The other occupant of the cage jumped to his feet abruptly, causing the bars to rattle. He strode over to Marth and into a beam of light provided by the moon.

A lean, fighter's body was clothed in a simple sleeveless faded-green tunic and dark grey breeches. He wore no shoes and his skin was slightly pale.

"You bastard!" Furious blue eyes, almost the same shade as his own, glared at Marth as the teen made his way over. Wild, but somewhat short, bright auburn hair was almost tamed by a blue and faded gold-colored headband. "Do you realize what I went through because of you?!"

Marth looked up at him from his position on the ground. That boyish face looked familiar, a sight from so many days at court. He could feel this boy's anger radiating from him like fire.

"Whatever it was, it wasn't my fault," Marth got to his feet, the moonlight playing on his blue hair and casting a glow on his own lean, muscled body under the tunic. "As of about twenty minutes ago, I am now banished." A trace of a snarl crept up into the exiled Prince's voice and he struggled to keep it out. His nails bit into his palms.

The auburn-haired boy looked straight up into Marth's eyes, fearless. He would not be intimidated by the ex-prince's height.

"Wasn't your fault? What do you mean if wasn't your fault?" he shouted. "I was in the castle, practicing maneuvers with my patrol unit and they grab me, strip me of my clothes, sword, and rank out of thin air! The only explanation I got was that the cause of this was you."

"I can assure you, I didn't do anything to intentionally rob you of your rank, General. But as you can no doubt see, I'm just as bad off as you are," Marth looked directly back into the boy's eyes, a little surprised to see they were the exact color of his own. "If you'd stop shouting and calm down, we just might be able to work something out. What is your name?"

The other boy's fists clenched tightly and he took another step closer till they were no more than a foot apart. His muscles tensed before he landed a punch on Marth's face.

"Now, why would the "Prince" be concerned with my humble name? Seeing as it's all I have left."

Marth glared at him, blood trickling from his lip. He tossed his icy cool out the window and hit the auburn-haired boy back, his fist connecting squarely with the other's face.

"Shut up!" He shouted. "I'm not a Prince anymore and I had nothing to do with what happened to you! Can't you understand that?!"

The smaller boy took a staggering step back and ran his fingers lightly over his eye. His eyes concentrated on the bars surrounding them, avoiding Marth's gaze.

"Well done," he growled softly. "Perhaps you aren't the airy, stuck-up "Prince" I thought you were." The young general turned his head and sat back in the corner, clearing away the small amount of blood from his nose.

The exiled prince leaned back against the bars of the cage and slid slowly to the ground. He wiped away the blood on his lip and leaned his head back. He felt the ice seep back into him. It wasn't his fault that he was this way. Losing both of his parents so recently had forced him to become cold and hardened. As for his cellmate…

Marth studied the auburn-haired boy in the opposite corner. He could definitely do worse than be stuck with the hotheaded general. Maybe in time he would understand that the ex-royal had nothing to do with his dismissal. With that thought, Marth closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~

He was awoken the next morn by none-too-gently hands probing the bruise on his cheek.

"See Sanders? Told yeh we shoulda put 'em in separate cages," the dark-haired goon growled at his partner. "They've been feudin' and gone and ruined their pretty faces."

"Don't worry 'bout it. Dammit, Brently, they'll heal by the time they get to The Market," the lighter partner, called Sanders, snapped back, all too busy with the boy-general.

He struggled to bind the boy's wrists behind his back, and with great difficulty, succeeded. Half dragging and half-yanking, the goon exited the small structure.

The other one turned to Marth and pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Now, are yeh gonna behave?"

"No." Marth slipped out of he goon's grasp and bolted for the open door. Beyond the door lay his sword.

"Hey! Git back here!" Brently shouted, lunging after him. Marth dodged and seized his sword. He sprinted out the wooden door.

The second, Sanders, had managed to bind the young general's hands and feet and forced him to sit under a tree. Once he saw Marth loose and armed, he jumped up and headed warily over to him. Marth held his sword steady, intent on his escape. He was so intent the he forgot about Brently until in was too late. The dark-haired cohort had snuck up and tackled Marth from behind, using his bulk to bring him down. Sanders wrestled his sword from his grip and tied his wrists and ankles. They threw him to the ground next to the general.

"There, yer majesty. There's a lesson for yeh," one of them said, referring to the blow he had given Marth. The prince now had multiple bruises on his face.

"I take back what I said earlier. You are a fool," the general muttered under his breath. "You made several mistakes: One of them being the fact that you actually fell asleep last night. Secondly, never forget the number of opponents and last… I was watching you. You didn't have a chance."

"I don't usually act so reckless," Marth admitted quietly. "Nor do I sleep often. I just opted to at least try rather than be sold to slave traders. It's been a very interesting past few days and I wasn't thinking clearly. Thank you for your expert advice, General Roy," his voice was totally un-sarcastic.

The auburn-haired teen looked mildly surprised, but was about to retort when they were both yanked up and slung over separate horses. Then the cohorts mounted their beasts.

"We've both had quite enough of you and it you give us any more trouble, you'll regret it," came a deep, angry voice from atop the horse that the ex-Prince was slung over.

Marth stayed silent. He had absolutely no intention whatsoever of giving them any further trouble. Roy on the other hand, seethed deeply, glaring down at the ground.

"So whaddya say, Sanders?" We oughta be able to make it to Fairtown by nightfall, eh?" said the one above Roy.

"Yeah. And then from Fairtown it's a day and a half to the rendezvous point."

"How fun." Brently smirked at the two boys slung over the backs of the two horses. "I hear the roads are terrible- lot's of jostling."

Marth heard the boy-general next to him growl and relaxed back into his ice state. If he was ice, nothing could hurt him…

~~~~~~~~

Later, much later, Brently and Sanders stopped at an inn. The captives were finally allowed to slide off the horses. Roy's knees buckled under him and he fell over, face in the dirt, unbalanced by his bound wrists and ankles. The boy-general became away of the bruises that had formed on his abdomen and bit back a moan.

The ex-Prince however, seemed unresponsive and his eyes were unreadable. He soon joined Roy on the ground.

'And we have to do this again tomorrow…' Roy thought angrily, glaring at nothing in particular.

"Hey, how 'bout we tie 'em up in the barn with the horses? They won't cause a commotion there…" the bulkier Brently suggested to Sanders as they both dismounted.

"Sounds good. You do that while I get rooms for us," the lighter haired man replied. He walked off.

Brently jerked Marth up and the blue-haired young man glared ice daggers at the goon.

"Go ahead and glare. It won't do any good." They disappeared into the barn of the small inn for a moment before Brently came back for Roy.

What the redhead saw in the barn was tired horses in stalls, exhausted from their day's ride, and Marth tied to a wooden pole upon a loft.

"I'm glad yer light, Kid…" Brently muttered while hoisting Roy over his shoulder and climbing up a ladder to the loft.

"I'm not a kid," Roy stated flatly.

The goon rolled his eyes,

"Yeah, right… And I'm the Queen of Altea… You can't be more than fifteen, Boy."

Keeping his mouth shut and fiery temper in check, the general focused on the pain, ignoring the situation. Soon Roy's wrists were tied to Marth's and his ankles to the ex-prince's as well. Hearing Brently's chuckle, he squirmed a bit to try to get comfortable. No luck.

'Twisted sense of humor…' He found the pain too dull and turned his thoughts to the man whose back was pressed against his unwillingly.

Those eyes were cold and unfeeling and Roy realized that the ex-prince had not said a word all day since the attempted escape. A lock of stray blue hair fell into his eyes and he did not bother to move his head. For once, Roy was glad that he wore a headband to keep his own unruly mop.

"Are you going to sleep tonight as well?" the former general paused, eyes narrowing slightly, "I can stay up again."

Roy cursed himself mentally. It sounded like he was offering to give up his own hours of sleep for Marth's. That did not come out the way he wanted it to- seeing things as they were now, he didn't want to sacrifice anything for the former prince.

Marth stirred for the first time that entire day, lifting his head up and tossing the hair out of his eyes.

"I will stay awake and watch if you wish to sleep," he said.

Roy gave him an even look,

"I do not 'wish' to be caught unaware, Highness."

"I'm not a Prince, there's no reason to call me that. And have no fear, I have no intention of falling asleep tonight anyways. There's no point in neither of us sleeping anyways," He said expressionlessly.

"I don't believe you're forgotten your previous position in your heart." Roy shifted against him uncomfortably, his eyes darkening and eyelids half-closing tiredly. "For once, you're right. Training didn't prepare me for something like this…"

"Sleep," Marth said. He settled back and thought about the boy-general's words: "I don't think you've forgotten your previous position in your heart…" The ex-prince shifted a bit. Eighteen years of being royalty didn't just vanish overnight and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. With a sigh, he sat back for a long night of watching.

TBC…

Vallen: Whew! There's the first chapter! I really hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, there's a hell of a lot more to come! Tell us what you think!

Xan: Yes, a lot a lot more… Expect torture and angst and blood and all that really fun pretty stuff that you know you love later on… C'mon, you know you love it… Please review!