Chapter Text
The sky is cloudless and dark when a young, ragged boy finds his way to the doors of Hyrule Castle. The autumnal air is relentless, biting. The stony ground beneath the boy’s feet breathe cold into the holes of his boots.
A sculpture forged of metal looms behind him, its shadows piercing the delicate moonlight. He knows it’s nothing more than an art piece—an abstracted bird and a few triangles—but he can’t quite rip his gaze from the sharply angled silhouettes they draw on the wall.
Their shadows are glaring. Accusing.
He quickly pulls the folds of his cape over his head, ignoring that its fabric is torn and soiled, and that it does little to compensate for the rips in his garments. He grits his teeth. As if I could stoop so low, he thinks, though his eyes are now fixated on the ground. The seconds slow to a crawl while he waits, unmoving, the chill sinking its teeth ever deeper into his skin.
Slowly, and then freely, he laughs, bitterness clawing at his throat. It all feels so familiar.
Suddenly the world remembers him, and the castle doors open, pouring out golden light that floods the open space around him. There’s a warm, heavy voice that greets him: “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Marth.”
It takes him a few moments to respond, as if the name belongs to someone else. He lifts his head a little. “It is all right,” he says, struggling to shape words with his tongue.
“Thank you for your patience,” the voice replies. A broad-shouldered man, red cape billowing at his feet, emerges from the light. “Normally, you would've been sheltered at the Coliseum. With your special circumstances, and especially because of the war—“
“I said,” Marth repeats, louder than he had intended, “it is all right.”
The air thickens with silence. The caped man nods, grunting in acknowledgement. His blond hair looks almost white. “The king wishes to speak with you over dinner.”
“Yes.”
“Follow me this way.” The man turns, gesturing Marth to walk alongside him. Marth doesn't hesitate to move forward. Hearing the doors click shut moments later, he quickly forgets the cold night left behind.
The two of them walk briskly through the candle-lit hallways, leaving the intricacies of the castle's interior—the ceiling's magical lights hanging overhead, the carpet's golden plumes curling underneath—unacknowledged. Though Marth is looking ahead, his attention is nowhere in the present. Instead, he is thinking of the future, piecing it together from a past that has, in one fell swoop, left him both a refuge and an orphan. Alone and without an anchor, he thinks.
The man lays a hand on Marth's shoulder, making him jump. A set of doors engraved with ornate designs stands not more than a few inches in front of him.
Marth mumbles something incomprehensible. “I'm... s-sow—sorry.”
The caped man pushes the doors fully open before he faces Marth with a faint smile. The pauldron fastening his cape glints in the new light. “Ça daejyo-bou,” he says in Archanean—Marth's native tongue. “Don't fret.”
Marth responds quickly in Archanean, shaking his head: «I'm fine. Travel has just worn me out a little bit. »
«I see. I'm certain the king will be eager for conversation, however. Shall I translate for you? »
Marth pauses, turning the words over in his head. Then he frowns almost imperceptibly. «I should hope the king will have the sense to phrase his questions more simply. »
«I'm afraid some of the things we must talk about, » the man says, closing the doors behind him and Marth, «are far past simple. »
Marth can sense the man is intentional in avoiding the mention of things like the death of his family and the near-destruction of his kingdom.
The death of his family. The destruction of his kingdom.
For a moment, Marth wonders why the thoughts no longer carry any emotional weight. He blinks. «I'll ask for help if I need it, but I'd rather start practicing Kythid as soon as possible. »
“Have it your way,” the man responds, effortlessly switching back to Smashworld's language. He heads further into the hall—the dining hall, Marth realizes, quickly identifying the banquet table hewn carefully out of black marble, decorated with arrangements of ruby-colored gems and gold lining. After looking back once to confirm Marth is behind him, the man calls to his left. “I know you've been here, Daphnes.”
A voice booms with laughter at the far end of the hall, deep and jolly. “So you have? Don't keep me waiting, then! I've yet to call the children!”
The caped man prods Marth forward with a nod. «After you. »
Marth looks up at him for a lingering moment, and then he strides to the left end of the hall. His eyes fixate on the old man waiting there—first the bold crimson of his royal clothing, then the mirthful wrinkles of his face, then the outstretched arms he's holding out in greeting. The king’s voice is grander up close: “Welcome!”
Instead of receiving the embrace, Marth stops a few feet before the king and bows gracefully, making a conscious effort to speak in Kythid. “Greetings, King Daphnes of Hyrule. I am Marth, Prince of Aritia... ah, Altea, in the land of Archanea. I bring you the blessings of the late King Cornelius and Queen Liza, and may the—” King Daphnes clears his throat loudly. Marth immediately closes his mouth.
“My goodness,” the king says, not hiding his chuckle. “What manners! But don't tire yourself over formalities, eh? At least not as my guest.” He looks past Marth to where the caped man is standing not too far behind. “He is staying here, right?”
“Yes, as far as I can see. The other prime members have also suggested the same.”
“All well and good,” the king mutters, stroking his white beard thoughtfully. "Will you eat with us, Prime Link?”
“Wait a minute!” Pit jumped out of his seat so quickly he nearly sent his chair clattering to the ground. “You met one of the primes? One of the first-ever smashers? One of the people who founded the committee? You met—no, talked to him?!”
Marth grinned proudly. “Why, of course. He was the one who found me out in the Lands Beyond with his scouting legion, and then personally traveled with me all the way here.”
“And—and you didn’t even think to ask his name? Or his autograph?”
“Ah, well, maybe the thought crossed me once or twice. But I know that moment was the first time I learned the name. I wouldn’t even realize the significance of it until later.”
Pit’s surprise melted into confusion. “Seriously?”
“It was at a time when Prime Link and the rest of them had adopted their ‘prime’ titles not very long before. I could tell the old king even had trouble adjusting to the name.”
“Oh yeah,” Link said. “Even when Prime Link asked us all to shorten it to just ‘Prilin,’ it was hard for ol’ King Daphnes Nohänsen Ho-ho-Hyrule.” At mentioning the name, Link had swelled his voice into a jolly imitation of the king. A beat later, he returned to his previous tone. “’Course, even he realized eventually it was easier to adopt than to start calling me, I don’t know, Lil’ Link. Could you imagine how much of a mouthful that would’ve been?”
“I bet.” Pit settled himself back down with a grin. “What happened when you met Link, Marth? You must’ve been even more confused.”
“A great myriad of things were confusing back then,” Marth replied before quickly shifting his gaze far past Pit. “Speaking of.”
Zelda's voice carried well across the hall. “I can hear you, you know.” Though she was far from the table, her visage was clearly within sight.
Link raised his brows. “Has Zelda been there this whole time?” His question went unanswered.
It didn't take long for her to arrive in front of the others, an array of servants with carts of food parading behind her. She turned to the servants and nodded. “Thank you. That will be all." Link, Marth, and Pit echoed similar sentiments.
The aroma of the food was so thick and hearty Pit couldn't stop himself from imagining the crunch of the soft bread, and the savory tenderness of the meat, and the sharp flavor of the cheese— “Oh, man,” he groaned, his mouth watering. “The wait is killing me.”
“Just a few moments longer,” Zelda said simply.
As the princess began setting down glass teacups already filled with sweet-smelling tea, Marth said, “Perhaps you can join the storytelling straight away, then? You must have heard where I was getting to.”
“I did.” After placing her own cup of tea, Zelda turned to grab the kettle, crafted of a refined, sparkling crystal. She sighed when she set it in the middle of the table. “And with excellent timing as well. I seem to have arrived before you even mentioned my name.”
“Uh, what's wrong with that, Princess Zelda?” Pit asked.
Link snickered. “A lot of things, bud.”
Zelda shook her head swiftly. “Never mind.” She gestured to the carts of food. “I apologize in advance for being a bit unorthodox, but please help yourselves to whatever you want. I thought this might compliment the informal setting rather well.”
Pit had already swiped a plate, piling it with food even before Zelda had finished speaking. “Mmf-mm. Thnff,” he thanked, half a croissant sticking out of his mouth.
“Hey now,” Link groused. “Don't hog it all.”
“I'm actually rather flattered,” Zelda assured, sitting down next to him. “Happy guests are a sign of a good host, as Grandfather used to say. Now—” She looked to Marth. “Why don't I skip your story ahead a bit?”
Marth arched his brow at her with a skeptical frown. “How do I know you won't warp the narrative to your liking?”
“It's my story as much as it is yours and Link's,” Zelda answered, folding her arms. “Besides, it would be betraying of my Wisdom to stray from integrity and truth.”
“That's a lie.”
“At this present moment, it isn't.” Zelda smiled at the prince smugly.
Marth's hands balled so tightly into fists his nails almost broke the skin of his palms. He caught sight of Pit happily rejoining the group at the table, oblivious. Deciding Zelda had made her point, Marth breathed out through his teeth and looked away curtly. “Fine. But I'm picking up the moment you leave the scene.”
Zelda nodded. “Fair enough. Pit, what was the last thing Marth said in his narrative?”
Pit scratched his head. “Um. Something about Prime Link and dinner.”
“Ah.” Zelda hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, the king, my grandfather, called for Link and I to hurry down to meet our guest. We knew we'd house a few souls seeking refuge from the War of Centuries—and we did, in the many years after Marth's arrival. But on that particular night...”
Daphnes pats the dining table, his jaunty voice bouncing off the stone walls. Though it is mostly empty, the dining hall feels lively. “Come now, Zelda, Link. Don't be scared.” The table end nearest him is set for five.
Zelda seats herself to the right of the king. “I believe we're far past the age of being ‘scared,’ Grandfather.”
Prime Link, seated after Marth at the king's left, looks across to her. “Do not think that means you are at the age of being above fear. You're still just a developing trophy, after all.”
“I agree,” Daphnes says. He raises his hand, and seconds later, servants come forth with plates and bowls of food to apportion to everyone seated. Marth stays silent, though he notices that the meal is of mostly seafood and grains—crawfish tails, slices of salmon, rice and bread in various shades of brown. An echo of the Archanean diet.
“Although," the king continues, “Zelda has been very ambitious with expanding her abilities in the past few months.”
“You know the research colony that got stationed far up north, Pril?” Zelda asks. She eats her meal gingerly. “Alcamoth? Where the High Entia live?”
“Yes,” Prime Link answers simply. “Studies ether and a few other occult energies.”
“Well, their Emperor came down to visit us a few months ago, and he brought his daughter with him.” Zelda's entire expression lights up briefly with joy. “His daughter, Melia Antiqua—she showed me her sorcery, and ever since then she and I have been studying magic together.”
“It's her calling,” Daphnes says proudly. His plate has since emptied.
“You want to become a magician?” Prime Link mirrors her smile. “What happened to your studies in swordplay?” Unseen to the table, Marth’s eyes widen at hearing swordplay.
“That’s Link’s specialty,” Zelda answers. “But I haven’t forgotten it entirely. I’m actually looking into ways to mix the two styles together.”
“Now, wouldn’t that be something. I wish you well.” Prime Link looks up. “Now that you mention it, where is Link?”
“Oh, well,” Zelda begins. Then her voice becomes quieter. “He… said he's not hungry.”
Prime Link’s expression grows dark. “He knows I'm here.”
“Actually,” Zelda says with careful timing. “He has a... stomach ache.”
“What? Goodness!” the king cries, nearly spitting out his drink. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
“I've already taken care of it. He's in bed fast asleep.” Zelda's poise is unwavering. “But I'll tell him you came to visit, Pril.”
“That boy does everything but what he's supposed to do,” Prime Link grumbles, lowering his tone.
“Oh, come now, Rin—er, Prilin,” Daphnes urges. “Not while our guest is with us.”
Heaving a sigh, Prime Link raises his head. “Of course.” He turns to Marth. “I apologize, Marth. This conversation should be about you.”
Zelda blinks, noticing the prince. “Oh, right, I'd almost forgotten someone else was here. My apologies.”
“That's quite all right,” Daphnes assures. He plucks a napkin from the table and quickly blots his forehead with it. “Zelda, this is Prince Marth of Altea.”
Marth glances up momentarily. “Greetings.” He spends a moment to translate in his head. “I am—call me just Marth.”
“Your Kythid is surprisingly decent,” Zelda compliments. “Interestingly accented, as well.” She smiles despite Marth's leer fixated on her. “I'm afraid I don't speak Archanean, but I hope you’ll allow me to welcome you to Hyrule—and to Smashworld.”
Something bitter tugs at Marth’s emotions. « Ha. I can see the judgement in your eyes, » Marth says, carefully pretending to fumble over his words. “How do you say it? Thank you.”
Prime Link looks to Marth with a frown. « I wouldn't advise taking advantage of them like this. »
"No, no, I can speak," Marth insists. « I don’t seriously mean any malice. »
"Okay. I understand.” Prime Link leans closer. « I know you might be on your guard, but trust me. These are good people. »
Zelda and Daphnes exchange a glance. “Is everything all right?” the king questions.
“I would...” Marth pauses, appearing to translate silently. In reality, the idea of getting away for now swarms his mind. “I would like to carry this”—he gestures to the plate of food, untouched—“to my room.”
“Oh,” Daphnes says with sad eyes. “Are you tired?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Well then! Please make yourself comfortable. I know everything has been happening rather quickly to you, so I think it is indeed best to discuss the finer details of things tomorrow, after you've rested.” Daphnes clears his throat. “Zelda?”
Zelda perks up her head. “Yes?”
“You know the guest room—” Daphnes twirls his hand absently “—the one little Aryll and Linkle used to stay in.”
“Shall I take him there?”
“Please do. Don't worry about the table. And don't worry about the food. Just make sure Prince Marth is comfortable.”
Zelda stands up from her seat and bows to her grandfather. “I'll do my best.” She strolls around the table to where Marth is seated. “Come along, Prince Marth. You'll have to walk up to the next floor, but your room isn't far from the stairs.”
“Yes.” Marth rises slowly from his seat.
Wordlessly, Zelda turns away from the table and heads back to the doorway. Once Marth catches up to her, she leads the way out of the dining hall and towards the main staircase.
Prime Link and Daphnes watch the two of them leave.
“So,” Daphnes says, refilling his glass with wine. “Is it true Altea has fallen?”
“Along with the rest of Archanea,” Prime Link replies softly, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. The smell of the drink is sharp and pungent. “It's as if the entire Lands Beyond is slowly being ravaged by darkness.”
“If the strength of the Aporie is to be believed in, it seems Smashworld will find itself untouched.” The lights of the dining hall darken to a lurid glow. “At the cost of isolation, of course.”
“Perhaps not completely. After all, the founders created the Aporie so that Smashworld can be a place of harmony. A place where even the most scarred warriors can find rest. Where the fiercest of battles can be waged without hatred.”
“Hm.” Daphnes takes a long swig of his drink. “My heart trusts your judgement, my good friend. But my head wonders how much of it will hold true.”
Prime Link falls quiet in thought, then says, “Either way, I must see to it that Smashworld upholds itself as a place where people of all outer lands can find safety. A few hours from now I must be off again to clear the borders of any intruding darkness.”
Daphnes looks to Marth’s seat, neatly pushed back in with the food and drink still perfectly laid out. It appears as if no one at all but a ghost had been there just a few minutes before. After a deep breath, the king nods slowly. “May the goddesses bless you.”
Marth and Zelda are quiet while ascending the dimly lit, spiraling staircase. The sconces on the walls seem to react as Zelda passes them, her presence briefly illuminating the gray stone in flashes of bright blue. When the two finally arrive at the next floor, the chandelier lights of the great hall they enter flash in similar shades, as if jovially greeting her.
They continue down the hall. Marth, looking around him more readily now, notices nearly every decorative flag, painting frame, and suit of armor is branded with the same set of shapes as the sculpture outside. «Of course, » he murmurs. «The royal emblem... »
Zelda slows her walk. “Pardon me?”
“Oh. I'm sorry. Just thinking of something.” Marth doesn’t realize his Kythid sounds more fluent now than before.
“I see,” Zelda says after a hesitation, resuming her previous pace. “Is it anything I can help with?”
“Not really. I'm sorry.”
“All right then.” After turning into another hallway, Zelda stops at a grandly decorated set of twin doors. An engraving of the Hylian emblem is spread across their stone. “Here we are. You'll be sleeping here.”
She steps without another word into the room, Marth following tentatively behind her. Once inside, he can see that the room is spacious, with a wide arched window on a side wall allowing moonlight to illuminate the room. Directly in front of him is a bed adorned with thick covers, pale blue with white trimmings. There are a few silver-colored cushions and pillows lining its head. Silk fabric floats over the sheets, draping in a gentle canopy.
The sight of the bed is enough to make Marth's eyes feel heavy. He moves around to sit on one side of the bed, brushing his hand against the softness of the sheets. “Thank you very much for the help,” he says to Zelda.
The princess nods. “Of course. And if you need anything, my chambers are right across the hall. Shall I call for someone to bring your dinner?”
Marth decides he isn't too hungry anyway. “No. Thank you.”
“Then I bid you good night.” Zelda quickly heads to the doorway, but, as if remembering something, she stops. “...Prince Marth.”
Marth tightens his grip on the bedsheets, hearing her voice completely lose emotion. “What is it?”
Zelda turns to him, and, after taking a deep breath, says, «I insist it would be in your best interest not to assume you can pick your way through life here. »
Something clicks together in Marth's mind. He pushes himself onto his feet, directly facing Zelda. «That's it. I knew you were lying about something. »
Zelda can see Marth isn't exploding with rage; rather, he's wide-eyed in shock. She sighs. “Something I learned in studying with Miss Melia is that a magician is nothing without the art of deliberate misguidance. Although I feel you've overestimated me.” A pause. «I know Archanean perhaps as well as I suspect you know Kythid. Which, if I’m not wrong, is just enough. »
Marth frowns. Had it been that obvious he understood Kythid more than he’d let on? «What makes you say that? »
“I’d been watching you over dinner while I spoke with the others. You hadn’t seemed confused at all, nor completely ignorant, either.” Zelda raises her brows. “Your face even reacted to some of the things we were saying.”
Instead of countering her, Marth shrugs in defeat. «So what? » It’s still easier to speak in the fluidity of Archanean than Kythid’s sharp consonants and inflections.
Zelda's expression turns disdainful. “I'm surprised you can't recognize someone extending an arm to aid you.”
«It's been a while since anyone's even thought to aid me, » Marth growls, raising his voice. Quickly realizing his mistake, he lowers his gaze. «I’m—» he pauses. “I apologize. I should probably get rest.”
Zelda presses her lips into a tight line. She realizes she’s forgotten to light a candle in the room, and the darkness facing her seems to grow darker by the second. “Right. As I said, good night. I'm across the hall.” In the next few moments she steps outside and closes the doors behind her.
Minutes of emptiness pass. In the silence, Marth becomes aware of a faint ticking sound. Looking over to the windowed side of the room, he spots a bronze, dome-shaped clock atop a wooden vanity. When he makes his way across and holds the clock in his hands, Marth spots his reflection in the vanity mirror.
He sighs. His clothes are still torn in several places, and the layers of unwashed dirt and sweat on his skin have turned it a sickly jaundice. A stray thought passes through him. I deserve to look like this.
He shuts the idea from rooting itself any further. He steps back. No, I deserve better! He views himself again in the mirror, searching for something to elevate his thoughts, not noticing his eyes have grown wide with trembling pupils, not feeling the metal of the clock bend slightly in his grip. As if I could stoop so low.
Instead, he notices dust that's collected in the corners of the glass. The sight of it echoes words at him. Forgotten. Useless.
«No, I... » Marth backs away further. It's cold all of a sudden. Cold and empty. «I have to... »
A loud shuddering noise behind him snaps him out of his trance. He whips around, seeing the doors have been opened ajar.
“Hello?” someone's voice calls through the thin line of light. “Is anyone...” The voice falls to a muttering. “Ah, crud, probably asleep.”
Marth rubs his eyes. “No, it is all right. I’ve just entered.” He’s since given up trying to sound more foreign than he already does. “You can come in.”
“Really? Thanks!” The doors open wider. “I'll only be a little bit, though. I'm kind of tired too.” A head pokes into the room, smiling widely. “Hi!”
Marth sees his visitor is a boy. The most striking thing about him is that he looks close to identical to Prime Link, even in the way his ears are elvishly pointed. The only features setting this boy apart, aside from being clearly younger, are his blond hair, which is parted in larger tufts than his older counterpart, and his eyes, which have a considerably brighter shine.
Marth blinks, remembering there was someone missing from dinner. "Are you Link?" he questions.
The blond boy laughs. “Wow, you're good. I have no idea what your name is.” He squints. “Are you a new servant? Or a visiting friend? Or—no, wait! You're a long-lost cousin!”
“My name is Marth,” the prince introduces, his voice tense. Hadn’t this boy said he was tired? “I am here because... because my country Archanea has fallen victim to the war outside.”
“Oh!” Link exclaims, then, fully comprehending Marth's words, repeats softly, “...Oh.”
“I am sorry. I hope that does not mean anything bad to you.”
“No, not at all!” Link answers indignantly. “Well, war, yes. I can’t think of it meaning anything good to me.”
“That makes us similar.”
“How’d you get in here? Have you talked to the king yet?”
“Do you mean King Daphnes?” Marth watches Link nod happily. “Yes, he’s spoken with me. He was looking for you at the dining table.”
“O-kay…” Link narrows his eyes. “Prilin was there, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He was the one who brought me to the castle. He didn’t seem to like that you were absent.”
“Okay,” Link repeats flatly. It’s hard to tell what sort of emotion has replaced his cheer.
Whatever it is, Marth sees no use in prodding at it. “The king told me to rest well. Will I see you tomorrow morning?”
“Oh, right! Yes you will,” Link’s face brightens a little. “Hopefully staying here will be lighter on the heart for you.”
“Lighter on the heart?” In the lull, Marth remembers the clock in his grasp and gently sets it back on the vanity.
“Yeah, you know. Uhh, happier. Better life. More smiling.” Link tries to restrain a yawn, but is unsuccessful.
Marth regards him with steady eyes. A familiar bitter feeling causes him to frown. “I do not think that is easy to achieve.”
“You bet it isn't,” Link agrees, oddly eager. “Which is why I won't force you. But let me know if I can do anything to make it easier.” He ends his sentence with a laugh. “I think I'll go straight on to bed, though. See you in the morning, Marth!”
“All right,” Marth says. The only thing he can do is nod as Link forces an arm through the doorway and waves, then disappears altogether before shutting the doors. For some reason, the ghost of Link’s presence leaves Marth wishing the encounter had been longer.
But time passes on quietly, and Marth is once more alone with his thoughts.
The moonlight sheds silvery feathers of light onto the marble floor. Marth dwells on the words Zelda and Link had each left him. Zelda’s stern admonishment not to pick his way through life. Link’s brave declaration not to let his heart get weighed down.
Of course, they're both wrong, but only because they're unaware of the dust that Marth has left floating behind him. The blame he has left swirling about him. Marth knows he's witnessed the slaughter of his people, smelled their blood stain the floor, watched as the castle walls cracked and crumbled down, forever ending the life he knew as a son and a prince—all in a few agonizing minutes. All while he chose to run and hide.
Behind him, the clock ticks quietly. The more Marth listens to it, the more it sounds less like ticking and more like heaving breaths, counting down the infinite seconds—to what? A slow death? Serves it right, Marth thinks. No, serves them right. In recalling the memories now, though they are only days old, Marth doesn’t find tears, nor painful regret. He doesn’t find haunting images, nor ghostly sounds. He only finds numbness. It’s as if something that was once there within him is no longer alive. He climbs into the sheets of the bed. The covers warm his body; to Marth they feel sickeningly dense and suffocating, and empty.
It all feels so familiar. Again, the thoughts. The piercing stream of thoughts. Forgotten. Useless. Stuck. I deserve this.
«I... am a craven. »
A coward, he says to himself, slowly at first, then over and over again until, after hours of staring at the ceiling, Marth drifts into a dreamless sleep.