This will be the standard disclaimer-- all characters (aside from the unnamed advisor) are not mine. Essentially, I only take Roy and Marth out to play with, and I always put them back--in more or less one piece. But, anyway... Altea is not mine either, but... yes. Please don't sue, and flames may be directed to the giant carnivorous Goomba over there. Onto the story!

"Dear—"

No. I can't write that to him. He doesn't want to be treated like a girl, he says. He doesn't want to be coddled or treated delicately, he doesn't want to be showered with gifts or exchange pleasantries, and he hates pet names. By my royal blood, what on earth have I done to anger him so? His fiery temper flared at me no less than two days before, and he still has not returned. What am I to do? The weather has gone from bad to worse, and a village has already been buried by the cold. I must mourn the deaths among my people, and I have a kingdom to rule—but I must find him. He will die if he is brooding someplace secluded like I know he would, especially after such anger… If he burns out his energy and freezes to death, all because of a careless slip of my tongue, I could never forgive myself.

Why? You would ask why? Because I love him. He… did love me, at one time. But I suppose my first error was in keeping him here in this castle, when he is a free spirit. His fire is uncontainable, and I should have known—but I was selfish.

Please do not give me this 'But your Majesty is never selfish!' rubbish. I did not give you your position to feed me such nonsense.

"Roy,"

There. That's a better start. More honest, more open—simple. Just as he likes it… What was that you say? It seems cold, angry? But… what am I to write if not just his name? He does abhor pet names… Very well. Your advice is sagely, though I would ask that you do not let too much praise go to your head. I would prefer an advisor who was not arrogant.

"Dear Roy,"

That's better? Very well. I shall keep it. Thank you.

"Dear Roy,

I do hope you're faring all right."

I sound like a concerned father now? That was clearly not what I meant… oh, by the old kings of Altea, how I do wish letters to him were easier to write!

Not that I do not enjoy the challenge. It is refreshing to have such a vibrant spirit as his to write to, since the work and thought necessary to make him like my writings made it so rewarding when his reply was favorable.

You have something on your mind? Then please do speak it. No, I will not have you executed for being honest—unless, of course, you are planning treason.

Oh, do stop that. Unless you really are (which I doubt, you have been unerringly faithful to me) I will not even consider the thought. I did speak only in jest. Is a prince not allowed to speak in such a manner?

Ah… but why do I love him when he is so stubbornly hard to please? My dear advisor—love can be very blind. I understand that perhaps he needs a little time, but it has been two days already and I am worried. He has never been very good against extreme colds, especially now… he will die unless he takes care of himself properly. Oh, and knowing him, he will likely neglect to do so! How could I have been such a fool!

It is not my fault? My dear advisor, now you speak in jest. It was clearly my fault. I did something to displease him. Please do not tell me to forget him or to believe that he was at fault. He was very upset when he rode out two days ago.

"Dear Roy,

I hope you are safe and unharmed. I send my love and all the warmth you could possibly handle… the weather is quite frigid here and I worry that you might have perhaps been too preoccupied to properly care for yourself in such conditions.

I prostrate myself before you and beg for forgiveness, prince before his general, and ask that you only return to me and let me earn such forgiveness… What was it that I did to anger you so? I wish to remedy this. I do... my heart breaks for the thought of your continued absence. I pray every hour that you will come riding back, both you and your sturdy mount safe from harm.

What is it that displeased you? Was it my selfish wishes, keeping you cooped in the castle? You might come and go as you wished, and I only ask forgiveness for my ignorance. I should have known that your fiery spirit cannot be kept in a stone prison like this, for that might be what my palace was to you.—"

My dear advisor, please, if you do not wish to aid me with this letter, you may leave. If you wish to stay, then please offer advice I may use, instead of ridiculing how I beg for a 'commoner', as you have phrased it. He is no ordinary 'commoner' (and please do not say that as if you are referring to a pile of refuse, the common people have more value in their lives than you seem to believe), he is the general of Altea's armies. I do understand that perhaps he may see this as a way to retrieve the head of the armies that would otherwise be severed with his absence, but you do not understand him at all… or do you?

I do dislike taking suspicious tones, but your sudden silence is most unnerving. Have you interacted with him at all? You tell me these things, but then claim to have not talked to him very much. The man I see—and yes, he firmly declares himself a man, and he has earned the title as well—acts differently than some of your reports might claim. Why did I have you reporting on him at all? I only wanted to see how he was faring with life within the palace without making him feel that I was constantly hounding him… though now I see that perhaps this decision was made in folly. I would have been better off asking him to come to me if he had any difficulty with life here.

… Your refusal to speak is beginning to perhaps make me believe you have not been quite so loyal to me after all. But I will take this up with you later, so as not to taint his letter with the bitterness of suspecting my trust has been betrayed.

"—I would not go so far as placing my kingdom in your hands, but only for my people's sake. I am not so selfish as to promise a kingdom to another for the sake of love (though I do not doubt your ability or integrity.) However, I promise you that I love you unconditionally—if you should choose to tell me that you do not love me as I do you after all, my feelings will not waver. But… please come back safely. I miss you, though it seems strange to say it. Princes are supposedly expected to be detached… but oh, I do not care for protocol when it concerns you. For you, I would give up my crown, my birthright, my wealth—if you wished for me to live the rest of my life as an exile, then I would do so for your sake.

I think of you every day. I only pray that the gods will be kind, and that I have the fortune to see your beautiful face again. Please… do not be afraid of your beauty. It has its own masculinity, for there are many women in the courts and outside who talk of your wondrous features. They only pray that perhaps you would turn your eyes to them. I… as much as it pains me to say so, if you would desire one of them over I, then so be it… I shall not hold any sort of grudge.

I embrace you with all the love in my heart,

Marth."

You would disapprove of displaying such naked emotion on paper? How else am I to convey that I truly do love him, my dear advisor? … Your suggestion that perhaps I do not truly love him is preposterous. I would die for his sake—if it should be my life for his, I would gladly give mine up. I love him… and it is more than you can understand, clearly. We have had enough of this discussion. Now do tell us—what did you say to him?

Why would we presume that you are at fault? Well, we do recall that you explained to us earlier the fact that you were the last to speak with him. What lies did you give to him, so confident that we would never know?

… We have nothing to say. Please get out of our sight. We do not wish to speak with you right now. I will delegate a relation of mine as an heir—you will never force us to leave him for a woman, no matter how noble her blood or how many lands her beauty is sung of in. And to implant such a notion in his head… we are going to find him at once and set things right. You shall not interfere. Is that understood?

Good. I tire of the imperial pronoun… Now please, leave.

Riding out into the chill gales of a blizzard, Prince Marth of Altea absently thought how foolhardy this was of him to be out, looking for a single man in a storm like this. But he would not relent, and his intuition did not fail him. After an hour of searching, he found his quarry huddled next to a near-frozen horse, under the meager protection of a low-hanging tree.

"Roy… oh gods, Roy, thank the powers that you're alive!"

"M-marth? I-i-is that you?"

"Yes, it's me! I was so worried… please forgive me. I will explain everything once we get back to the castle."

"I-I can't move."

"W-why not?"

"I can't feel my legs… and the horse is sleeping. I wish I could sleep, too… I'm so tired…"

"No! Roy, please… you have to stay awake… you have to!"

"But… it's so warm… I'm so sleepy…"

"You'll die if you go to sleep here! You have to stay awake!"

"…Mmm…"

"Roy!" Marth shook the red-haired swordsman back to reality. Placing a blanket over the horse that had likely frozen to death, the prince hastily draped his cloak over Roy's chilled form. "Gods, Roy, please stay awake!"

He saw no other choice. Quickly hoisting Roy onto his now-tired mount, he leaped astride himself and shouted to the horse to run. Riding at a fast gallop straight back to the castle, there was no one in sight…the streets were empty, and the windows and doors were all securely fastened. No one wanted a stray gust of wind to blow open a door and rob a home of all its hard earned warmth.

It took only fifteen minutes to get back, Marth checking on the young general every so often. Every time the general closed his eyes, the prince roughly shook him awake, pleading to him to hang on, to just try to stay conscious until they were out of the deadly cold. The soldiers who met them at the gates were shocked at the wild-eyed prince they saw running his horse to near-death in this weather, and stabled the mount quickly, while Marth carried Roy inside, hastily, seeking any warmth—settling with the kitchen hearth, which was the closest. Asking a maid to heat some soup left over from lunch, he tried to wake Roy up fully.

His hands were like ice. Stripping the general out of his snow-encrusted armor and now soaked clothing, he wrapped him in a warm blanket that had been sitting by the fire (ignoring a maid's protest that it had been for his own bed) and waited, hoping that it would be enough to bring him around.

"Please, Roy… please wake up… gods, don't leave me here alone! That advisor lied to you! I had no such plans to marry anyone… I only have eyes for you! I could only ever love you!" Marth gripped one of the redhead's death-cold hands, feeling equally cold fear well up inside him. Searching frantically for a pulse, he felt one… but a faint one, growing fainter as cold fear welled up inside him.

"No… hang on… please…" He kissed Roy's icy lips, and felt no response—there was only the sheer cold. The dread, more frigid than the ice he feared his love had succumbed to, grew even larger. It sank roots into his mind and his body, making his limbs numb and his heart faint. "Please… Roy, I love you. Please don't leave me here alone…" Feeling his hope diminish, Marth turned his eyes to the carved amulet the cooks kept above the fireplace. Murmuring a prayer, he begged the gods not to take his lover away from him…

And something strange happened. The kitchen suddenly filled with heat, heat enough to thaw Roy's frozen body. Marth felt himself weaken, unable to bear such temperatures—and he saw Roy open his eyes. Smiling gratefully, he dimly heard a strange, celestial voice murmur, "We granted your wish, Prince of Altea—but in exchange for your lover's life, we want yours." He stood up, shakily, and watched Roy stand up as well—completely nude, save for the blanket. Feeling a kiss pressed to his lips, he struggled to respond in kind—but found only the energy to mouth, "I love you." The last he saw before his vision faded to black was Roy's suddenly panicked face, the general's strong arms catching him as he pitched over backwards. But he smiled anyway, for as he fell he heard his beloved general say, "I love you too."

A/N: And here we have a first chapter that seems slightly cliche already. Please refrain from coming after me in an angry mob, though I would not mind one's displeasure being voiced through an angry (or perhaps not so angry, if I'm lucky) review. Thanks a bunch! (insert smile here)

... As for Marth's somewhat formal speech up in the first section... uh... that kinda just seemed to be the way he should talk, being a prince. .;; But, in any case... it's not over yet!