Disclaimer: Characters and settings are copyright to Nintendo, save for Snake, who's Konami's man and Sonic, who is Sega's.

Disclaimer 2: I'm not a professional player of Smash Brothers; consequently, this story isn't an accurate representation of advanced gameplay. While I refer to numerous instances of professional play, most elements of gameplay have been amended, removed or developed upon for the purposes of creating a believable and enjoyable work of fiction. For any comments that state the inaccuracies of this fic's tier list of choice, the impossibility of Link besting other characters or other remarks in this vein, the owner of said comments will be politely directed back to this disclaimer. Cheers!

Disclaimer 3: In OoT, Link travelled back and forth through time using the Master Sword and the Temple of Time, but for the purposes of this fic, this ability is with the Ocarina.

Beta Read by the wonderful Crazy Foxie. Any remaining errors are solely my own.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

THE EULOGY

AND

THE UNSUNG HERO

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

o-o-chapter 13 – the loose cannon-o-o

Snake arrived at Mushroom Kingdom in a fighter plane daubed in military colours and insignia. It streaked and screamed across the sky and if he had to be honest, it was a little gaudy, but Snake was a special ops agent. Special agents, by principle, should never have to travel by the likes of 'Cheep Cheep Choob' or 'Shiny Star Steam Loop'. What was this Kingdom on?

He jumped out the aircraft and fell through the sky like a lost cause. He yelled a stream of curses, because nothing in his mission brief had said his projected route would be rammed with trundling 'Paratroopas'. He crash landed in the sea, before nearly being blinded by a 'Blooper' and speared to death by six 'Porcupuffers'. Thankfully, Snake's survival gear was equipped enough to push him to shore and preserve his application papers. The hardest stage of the mission was yet to come.

His task: to find and retrieve Samus Aran, the universe's greatest and most feared huntress. For that, he needed Marth Lowell. And for him, Snake most likely needed that shy, elfin warrior, who had stumbled into Smash Brothers with as much grace as him.

-x-

The Hero of Time has three key points to establish when the Ocarina grants him its power. Like a Triforce, all three have to be kept in balance or else there will be disastrous consequences.

First of all, the time traveller needs to know when and where he is, and he must respect that time period. He must only interfere when carrying out the will of the Goddesses, no matter what it is.

Second, he can't be seen by his past self or anyone who plays an active role in his present. He risks distorting the course of events if he does.

Third, he must go back to the present, where he belongs.

As soon as Marth answers to his name, I forget these laws.

-x-

"I don't mean any harm. I don't mean to cause trouble, I promise. I just—m-my friends, they were cross and I had to escape. I promise, I'll be right out your way—" I gibber excuses to the thin strip of orange light, before succumbing to my honest train of thoughts. "It's only, I…I can't believe you're here."

"Well, it is my house," Marth replies easily. "So it's me who can't believe you're here."

One wrong move, one wrong word, and the timeline will be thrown into chaos. I shouldn't meet Marth or any aspect of the past, not until I understand why the Hero of Time has been called. Logic beats away in the back of my mind, but it's fighting a losing battle. It's too tempting beyond the door.

Marth is Summertime's driving force, the reason I am at Smash Brothers in the first place. I know how vital he was to the team, how much influence he had over Smash Brothers, how he still takes precedence in the Tournament, even in absence. I have watched his Qualifying games, learnt his tactics and employed his methods. All this, and yet all I know of Marth is second hand, cultivated from skewed opinions, snide rumours and glossy magazines. There has always been a glass, a clean cut between his time at Smash Brothers, and my own.

The first thing I learn about Marth, from fresh experience, is that he is indomitably patient. There's a stranger in his cupboard, and he is quite content to leave him there.

"What were you escaping from? Problems?"

I nod, before realising the mistake in this. "Y-yes."

"You do know the problems will still be there. This—" Marth raps his knuckles against the old wood "—this is only temporary, my friend."

Samus' yells and my spiteful retorts resonate in my head. Olivia's perfume lingers on me; the collective laughter of the studio audience rings hard in my ears. My hands continue to shake in the aftermath. "We were all arguing," I say to my knees. "Everything went wrong today and it was my fault. I made mistake after mistake, and it was…it was just the noise." I grip my ears, the steadfast reminder of both Hyrule and the impossibility to fit in. "They kept shouting at each other, at me."

The door creaks and presses against my shoulder, and I have the distinct feeling Marth is leaning against it. "Well," he says after a moment, "friends like to do that, I'm afraid. They wouldn't yell at you if they didn't care."

There's the strangest pause, where I am convinced Marth is holding his breath. It suddenly occurs to me that the person most likely to understand how I'm feeling right now – this guilt for being so loved even in light of failure – is right there on the other side of that door. "M-my name's Link."

"Hello Link, I'm Marth."

"…Is anyone there with you?"

"It's just me and a box of doughnuts. You know, if that's convincing enough for you to come out." There are footfalls as Marth steps back. "It's all right," he adds. "Erika's already gone to the Grounds."

I look up in the darkness. "Who's Erika?"

"My sponsor. She's renting these houses; you must have seen her today. Black hair, long sleeves? She was probably screaming at you. Wait…you are on the removal team, right?"

I hesitate, prompting a sharp exhale from Marth. "No, I'm…Well, you'd think I'm crazy if I tell you the truth."

"You're sitting in a linen cupboard, Link; we waved past crazy a long time ago."

"R-right." The Ocarina's safe in my left hand, ready for me to use if there's any threat to the timeline. "I'm uh…" I shift, a little glad Marth can't see my embarrassment. "I'm the Hero of Time from Hyrule Kingdom. I'm a time traveller." I pause, but Marth doesn't use it as an opportunity for ridicule. "I'm not really supposed to use time travel to escape an argument," I add nervously. "I shouldn't be here."

Marth doesn't say anything for a moment, such that I almost wonder if he's given up and left the room. Then, he breaks into a short laugh; he sounds half-exasperated, half-enthused. "Okay, now you definitely have to open that door."

It only takes a little more coercion before I do. There's no bite to Marth's voice, such that I'm compelled to ask, "You don't think it's odd?"

A small sound of shuffling. "Hmm, well, Altea has old stories – perhaps the better word is legends – of ancient mages that practised time magic. It's said the magic drove them to madness, and the White Sage sealed this knowledge away under common agreement that time is too dark to ever serve a master." Marth makes a noise in his throat. "Or maybe the mages never knew, and the legend is for self-preservation. In any case, it's not unheard of."

I press my lips together, a little unprepared for such tolerance. My next action is irreversible, but I'm encouraged by the knowledge it's predestined. Marth and I definitely meet at some point; I just don't know if that point is now.

I push the door. The shard of light stretches and engulfs the skeletal insides of the cupboard, and I squeeze one leg out, before pushing myself onto my feet.

This is the same room as my bedroom at Summertime. The bay window's still there, but it now has a cushioned seat; its curtains are pulled back to frame the familiar night scene of Star Square. It seems brighter in this time period, as though the neon lights are only too proud to illuminate the banners of an honest Tournament.

My prolonged looks are discourteous as well as discomforting, but I still can't believe he's here. Marth is taller than I had imagined, perhaps a few inches shy of Falcon, and where his tiara should be, there's an elastic band instead. He's pushed all of his hair back with it and in place of a prince's gilded uniform, he wears a vest and baggy trousers. On a quick glance of the room, I realise in this time period it's more of a small library. A circular table is the centrepiece, which is what Marth leans against as he folds his arms and stares at me. Bookcases line up along the wall before the ceiling drops to accommodate the rafters.

I don't know how to break the silence. Marth, thankfully, does. He takes two steps to the bay window and retrieves a box. "So, doughnut?" A cloud of fine sugar escapes in a small puff. "We're packing up so there's nothing in the house, hence the junk food runs. Seriously, have one."

I take a doughnut to appease him. I piece together fragments – the mention of a removal team, the Grounds being open, the quiet evening Marth is having – and surmise the jump in time has been neat, clean. "…Do the Eighth Finals start tomorrow?"

"That's right. We're relocating to the Kart Circuit in the morning." Marth nudges one of the wooden seats at the table, and I take the hint. In closer proximity, I can see his eyebrows are slightly furrowed. He sits in the chair opposite, but his upper body seems to lean away from me. "You sound surprised. Did you travel here by accident?"

"K-kind of." The nerves that hit me on Olivia Flaherty's set begin to resurface. "I didn't know how far back I'd be going. The Eighth Finals start tomorrow for me too. It's the Fourth Tournament."

Marth raises his eyebrows. "It's the Third Tournament here."

I fight down any betrayal that threatens to escape, because the Third Tournament is Marth's last. He'll play against Sonic first, before losing against Meta Knight in the Quarter Final. The day after the Final, he'll die.

I stay quiet too long.

"What?" says Marth, but then he takes a deep breath and waves his hands. "No, wait. I can't ask, can I?"

"Sorry," I murmur. There's the sound of a horn blowing outside, which thankfully covers the sound of my shuddering breaths, because I know Marth wants to hear about the future as much as I want to tell him about it.

Marth looks out the window, momentarily distracted by the street life. His arm drops over the back of the chair. From where I sit, I can see the fluttering banners of Smash Brothers and the glowing skyline of Mushroom Kingdom I am all too familiar with; it's strange to see Marth in its foreground. "Everyone's entitled to a bad day, you know," he says after a minute. He turns back to face me. "I mean, to have a day bad enough that you'd hide in a cupboard and go back in time to escape it. You're allowed, you know. It's all right to sit out for a bit and feel down."

I concentrate on the box of doughnuts between us, at the absurdity of the situation. As the Hero of Time, I should be concentrating on the Goddesses' will, but I've fallen into a selfish rut instead. I can't scrabble out of my blue mood, such that even when limited by the information, Marth won't ignore it.

"It wasn't just a bad day," I mutter. "I ruined everything. I'm supposed to be…completing this task," I manage evasively. "I don't know, I fell to pieces on the media circuit and undid everything we'd accomplished. The interview was horrible. It made me realise I can't do it. It doesn't matter what my friends say; I shouldn't be here." My stomach turns as I finish, "I should be in Hyrule, and someone else should be in my place."

It's ten times worse to say it out loud.

Marth adjusts his elastic band, wincing a little as a few strands of hair get caught in it. He offers a thin smile. "You were on the media circuit. You're on the Fourth roster," he says gently.

I nod, and turn my body to show my back. I'm still in the tunic I wore for Olivia's interview, where its back is emblazoned with the Triforce and Summertime's logo. It's the only proof I have.

"Smash Brothers Fourth Tournament. Summertime, Proud Sponsor of The Unsung Hero, Link," Marth reads. He rubs the back of his head.

"Please, you can't tell anyone. You can't tell anyone, especially the other Smashers."

Marth nods. I trust him as quickly as he befriended me. I don't know if my trust is merely an extension of Samus' or if there is something else, but when I look at Marth, I'm inclined to throw caution to the wind, the way a bird might dive out the sky because he just knows the sea will save him.

"Link, you keep saying you shouldn't be here, but that's the beauty of the franchise. There are hundreds of worlds out there and Smash Brothers is what brings them together. There's room for everyone, from hunters and plumbers to time travellers. You got into Smash Brothers; you earned that place. Sometimes, the media makes you doubt yourself, but today's scandal will be next week's footnote, I promise."

"It's not just that," I mutter to my hands. "It's…I can't talk about it."

"You're worried you can't complete it. The task you're helping out on," Marth guesses correctly. He twists his back to stretch left and right and, with the clear experience of someone who does this on a regular basis, he reaches across and takes my shoulders. "You're going to be all right, Link," he says. "Everything's going to be all right. Whatever happened today was a setback. That's it, all right? It was just a setback."

"It doesn't feel like it."

There's more pressure on my shoulders. It's a strong, grounding weight, and I find myself wondering just how many times Marth has sat down to battle away the sadness. I wonder how many times it's been Samus or Peach or Falcon here, how many occasions there had to have been to make the end of Smash Brothers a worthy sacrifice for him. "What you're feeling now," Marth assures me, "I guarantee it's less to do with your ability to finish the task, and more about the fact you let your friends down."

I bite hard on the inside of my lip. "How can you tell?"

"Because you hid in a cupboard. You ran from the noise, not the responsibility." Marth shrugs. "It's pretty telling. I think you're hurt that your friends care so much about you."

I buckle under his hands. Something behind my ribs breaks; something shatters. Something has had to have broken in me, to make me think in such a horrid way. "I sound so ungrateful, don't I."

"Unacquainted," Marth amends lightly. "It can be a difficult thing to get used to."

I shift, and Marth pulls his hands back. "Have you felt like that before? That everyone's care for you is wasted?"

He sits back in his seat and his left leg shakes up and down. "Yeah, I feel like that often." He smiles a fraction. "Trust me, you're not the only one. Go ahead," he adds, when he sees me eyeing the doughnut box. I'm not really hungry, but having one creates an excuse to stay longer.

Marth's words are reassuring, kind, true; he knows exactly what to say to lift my spirits. I've never been deciphered, dismantled so easily.

It's then that a thought hits me, and now the secluded grove won't leave my mind. Neither will Samus' empty expression, as she sat by the headstone and told me of Marth's fate. I remember her telling me that Marth was kind, that Marth was Master Hand's favourite. He was everyone's favourite because what he stood for flew in the face of Smash Brothers. But no one warned me that he was my friend too.

"I…I should get back."

I know why the Goddesses brought me here.

It's only now that I understand the full extent of what Master Hand took away from me.

-x-

It's difficult to leave Marth, but I do it. The last I see of him is his half-confused, half-interested expression as I play the Song of Time on the Ocarina and jump back to the present. The room loses the books and the smell of sugar, and I stand in the middle of my bedroom in the dark. The house is quiet.

I open the door. The sound of the latch prompts movement, and my guilt only worsens at the sight. Everyone is sitting on the worn carpet of the landing outside my room. Falcon is closest, sat cross-legged with Samus resting against his shoulder. Peach is hugging one of Samus' arms. Fox is face down in the middle; he might be asleep. Roy sits on the three-step mini staircase to the adjacent bedrooms, and Falco sits on the banister directly opposite me.

The minute they spot me, they all start talking, but it's Mewtwo who catches my attention. He gives me a look, a cold stare, and he shakes his head.

"Oh Link, we're all so sorry." Peach fights her skirts to stand up, but she stops when I join her on the floor. Fox sits up with a grunt, rubbing the side of his head.

"You know how to give us the silent treatment, huh, Link?" says Falco. "We've been grovelling at your door for nearly two hours. Did you listen to a word we said?"

I shake my head.

"Totally abused the lock privilege," Falcon utters under his breath.

Samus purses her lips. "Look, maybe I spoke out of turn—"

"I need to speak," I cut in.

"No, I need to," she replies, "I need you to understand why I—"

"I need to speak," I say, louder this time. "Please, to everyone. Listen to me. "

"Shh! Shh! Listen to him!" Peach waves a gloved hand at the space animals. Everyone falls quiet. Slowly, Falco slides off the banister and sits next to Fox.

"I'm the one who should apologise," I start. I try to project my voice to sound more confident, but as we sit so closely, there's little need really. "I'm sorry for what happened today. I panicked, and I couldn't recover from it. I've been so distracted by the novelty of Smash Brothers that the mission slipped from my mind at the most crucial of times. It was no one's fault but my own. I'm sorry."

"Link…" Falcon starts, but Peach shushes him.

"I lost sight of why I'm here. I was recruited for a specific reason, and I want you to know that I've been reminded of it, and it still stands. I want to compete in and win the Tournament. I want to get to the Hall of Fame and retrieve the evidence of Marth's murder. I want to destroy Smash Brothers."

Peach pats my shoulder. No one else reacts.

"But…I can't win the Tournament without the help of everyone here. If we're going to overthrow Master Hand, we have to work together as a team. So no more arguing, no more of that…you know, blaming one another." Here, Samus twists her lips and her cheek pushes harder against Falcon's shoulder. "I'm asking for your support. If you all think I can do it, I can do it."

There's an odd pause, which is promptly ended by Peach giving a loud sniff. "Yes, you can do it," she murmurs into a hanky that appears to have come from nowhere. "We never doubted you for a moment; it was simply so upsetting to see that interview, knowing we were powerless to help. We were just so emotional that maybe it didn't come out in the b—"

"Speak for yourself," mutters Falco.

Peach dabs at her eyes. "Can we all just hug and make up, please?"

"No, no hugging," Falco spits, as Mewtwo's stony expression breaks and he too, looks positively horrified. "We do that hands-in-the-middle thing," he compromises, "like what the Leatherskin Lizards do before each game."

He holds out a wing. Peach puts her hand on top and gradually, everyone follows suit. It's a comforting gesture that could rival the weight Marth had on my shoulders; we shuffle forwards on the floor, gravitating towards the centre with our right hands. Samus rests hers on mine.

"D-does that include me?" Roy asks, before Mewtwo gives him a telekinetic shove forwards. The Pokemon towers over Fox and looks as though he might excuse himself, when Peach disarms him with watery eyes and a quivering lower lip. Finally, Mewtwo outstretches a sinewy arm to complete the group.

"We all promise to work together," Fox says solemnly, "to propel Link to Smash victory, to defeat the beast from within, to avenge our dear friend, to destroy Smash Brothers once and for all. And no more arguing."

There's a collective murmur of agreement, and then from the bottom of the pile, Falco pushes his arm up. We break away, like a flower crumpling in the wind.

"That was a bit cheesy; remind me never to suggest it again," Falco utters, promptly ending the heavy mood. He shudders as though discomfort is something he can physically shake off. "Come on, let's talk game plans. We need a game plan."

"Yeah," says Samus. "First off, Link needs to salvage his reputation or else he's going to be booed out of the Tournament. We need crowd support in the upcoming matches. Roy, I want you to monitor the media feeds and do what you can to counter the negative spin. Falcon, we have to have a media platform. If Olivia's vetoed Star Channel, we need alternatives."

"The logical choices are Fire Flower Network or MK Luma Screen," Falcon replies. "They won't bite, however, unless we have something good to sell."

"As in, Link's got to be valuable again." Fox reaches inside his jacket and retrieves a sheet of folded paper. "Best way to do that is to dominate the Tournament. Here, son, take a look."

He hands me the sheet where helpfully, Master Hand has drawn up the Fourth Tournament line up with competitor names and a picture of them. I quickly spot myself in the far left corner. "I'm up against Luigi."

"Yep, a nice match to ease you into the single games. You need to go all out on him; just obliterate him in that match." Fox edges past Falco to sit opposite me. He tilts the page so he can see too. "Now, there are two things that stand out in this that you must take note of. Firstly, Falco and I are on the eastern branch of the line up; that is to say, we're separate from you. We can manoeuvre the eastern side to push a relatively unthreatening opponent to the Final, but we have no control over your side, the western side. This means—"

"—I have to get to the final on my own," I reply.

"Exactly." Fox draws an imaginary ring round the left hand side of the page with his finger. "Which brings me onto my second point. The bracket next to you has Meta Knight against Lucas, which all but guarantees that you'll be facing the defending champion himself for the Quarter Final. It's earlier than we'd like."

I bite my lip, studying the page and attempting to get used to the cold stare of Meta Knight. "But I can do it, right?"

"Of course," Samus replies. "We need to concentrate on advanced play. If you have time tonight, I can teach you the basics of one trick, which you can practise at the Grounds. You need to learn not to rely on your Patch." She leans back against the wall and stretches out her legs. "At the moment, you're incredibly hindered by having to check your Patch frequently for percentage updates. The vision overlays aren't that much better and with the fast pace of Tournament matches, you don't have time to check numbers. Essentially, it's a matter of assessing knockback instead. It's a tactic even Meta Knight hasn't started relying on, but given his versatile, light jumps, he has the time to check the main screen's percentage display while falling. You don't have that luxury."

"Does anyone else use this tactic?" I ask her.

"That I know of? The space animals and Dedede – the latter because he heard me talking about it and decided to thieve it and give it a whirl." She scoffs, as Falcon unconsciously mirrors her expression. "Unfortunately, he's turned into a pretty tough Smasher because of it. Dedede's rarely caught off guard. But don't worry," she says with finality, although I think she's talking more to herself, "Falco will knock him out the Tournament if Dedede wins his Eighth Final against Kirby."

She glances round at us all. "Anything else? Otherwise I'll take Link straight to training."

"Well, only that I think it's important that Link gets a good night's sleep," Peach says. She dusts down the front of her dress and holds up a finger. "Oh, and that we should print him a map to the actual Kart Circuit; it's not just great publicity but I think he'd enjoy it. A break from the seriousness!" she finishes with a clap of her hands.

"I'll look into arranging something," Falcon concedes.

"I've drafted a press statement to challenge the interview," Mewtwo adds. "I angled it towards Flaherty's professional misconduct as opposed to any contrition on Link's part. That, in combination with Tournament exposure, should awaken rival channels."

"Great, I'll check it over tonight." Samus nods to me. "Let's go."

"Before I do," I reply, "I wonder if I could first have a private word. Uh…with Roy."

Samus pulls a deep frown, but she manages to contain herself. Falco, on the other hand, has no such self-control. "Roy?!" he screeches, to the point he sounds uncannily like Olivia Flaherty. "What's Roy got to do with anything?"

However, perhaps concerned that I might lock myself in my room again, Samus gets up and nods with finality. "I'm sure Roy won't mind. I'll wait for you in the training room. Might as well check that statement now, Mewtwo." As everyone else traipses downstairs, she adds, "It's probably some merchandise question. Whatever it is superfans do."

Roy shuts my bedroom door with a foot and gives a stiff shrug. "Is that what it's about? I mean, I can source some rare collectibles if that's what you're after."

I shake my head. "I'm looking for certain information, but it…it needs to be kept secret, if you don't mind."

Roy seems so unconvinced he can help me out in any way that he replies promptly, easily. "You're my ultimate employer; I only answer to you. I won't breathe a word. How can I be of help?"

I sit down on the edge of my bed, concentrating on the collection of LED lights I have amassed over the months at Smash Brothers. The more I stare at this room, the more I start to think that I imagined it all. "Do you know what this building was used for last year?"

Roy chews on his lip, glancing up at the ceiling in thought. "Last year? Well, Star Square's always been a row of townhouses owned by the Smash Board and rented out during the Tournament season. It's mostly sponsors who live here because the houses don't have training facilities for Smashers – until now, of course. I suppose last year, uh…" He twists his lips and scratches his head. "Last year, all of the buildings in Star Square would have been rented out to EKSPI."

"Was that Marth's sponsor?"

Roy nods. "Yeah. Erika's Kanto Scent and Perfume Innovations," he explains. "She started off as a self-employed perfumer before she built a whole business empire with Marth as her headline marketer."

"Do you have a picture of her?"

Roy crosses the room to search my magazine rack. "She'll be in one of the old editions. Uh…the sponsors' coverage is your best bet. Here," he says. "You're in luck." He sits down next to me. "That's Erika and Marth at the Third Tournament."

"I knew it," I breathe. I recall Marth's description of Erika's long sleeves and black hair; she stares back at me with a big smile. Between her and Marth is a small blue creature, which rather looks like a giant blueberry sprouting leaves. "She was at the Grounds when I qualified, right before I met you. She didn't say anything; she just bowed and left."

"You know Erika?"

"No, but I think she knows me." I itch under my hat and chew my lip.

"Maybe she's looking for a new face for her perfume campaign," Roy suggests. He turns the page, where there's a double spread advert for a golden, ornate pear-shaped bottle. Marth is outstretched on a bed of black, drenched in rain, his curved fingers the domineering foreground, as though he's reaching out for me. "Beautiful Emperor," Roy reads for me. "Fastest selling marketing item ever endorsed by Smash Brothers. Caused a lot of controversy at first, but once Master Hand himself jumped on bandwagon, that was it. Sorry, here I am wittering away—"

"No, it's fine. What controversy?" My heart slams against my ribcage, as though it already knows the answer.

"Well," Roy begins, glancing around him as though expecting reprimand, "it was initially considered an arrogant marketing ploy and an insult to Master Hand." He sits back and flicks through more pages of the magazine; faces of the past jump out at me. "Marth was the Emperor of Smash Brothers, but no one adored him for it as much as Master Hand did."

"…So why would he kill him?"

Roy shrugs. "Doesn't make sense if you ask me."

"It doesn't, does it."

The bright glows of the LED cubes switch through their colours the way I switch through my various stances on Smash Brothers. We say nothing for a minute, and then Roy says, "Was it just Erika you wanted to know about?"

"There's one more thing." I clear my throat. "I was hoping you could source a uh…change of clothes for me."

"Clothes?" Roy repeats. He glances none too conspicuously at my large wardrobe.

"Clothes I can wear as part of a disguise," I clarify. "I'd like to be able to wander around without being recognised."

Roy sticks out his lower lip. "As your bodyguard, I shouldn't promote such a risk…"

"I'm your ultimate employer."

Roy pulls a face; he might be impressed. "I'll see what I can do."

-x-

The next morning, a white limousine pulls up at the centre of Star Square. Its front has been cleanly divided into four in the mark of Smash Brothers, and the clamour of shouting reporters and photographers reach my ears long before I open the door to leave. The car is here, as Samus bitterly phrased it earlier, to fuel the media hype of the Fourth Tournament's start and the commodity of the competitors. Each Smasher is picked up from their location before being transported to the Kart Circuit for the Eighth Finals.

Despite only being a ten second walk away, it takes me nearly five times that to reach the car door.

"Link! What happened on The Olivia Flaherty Show? Do you have any regrets for your behaviour?"

"Link, any comment on your upcoming Eighth Final match against Luigi?"

"Link! Why is your shirt inside out?"

I keep my mouth clamped shut and, with the aid of burly security guards roping off the access, I clamber into the limo with a big sigh of relief.

The seven other pickups are already present. Lucario stares and stares at me; the Ice Climbers are busy trying to convince Lucas to stop chewing off his bleeding nails; Falco wears an expression about as friendly as a hungry shark; Ike doesn't even look up from his phone.

"Hey Link." Snake is the only one to greet me. He's on the left hand side of the limo with no free seats either side of him. In fact, there is only one seat left, and it happens to be the one Dedede is half hanging over. I take a deep breath, as though I'm about to plunge to the bottom of Lake Hylia, and squish in next to him. Dedede is examining his copy of the Tournament setup while attacking the snack bar for free food. As a few stray crisps roll down his generous stomach and land in my lap, I manage a thin smile and say, "Good morning everyone."

"Absolute disaster," Dedede says between mouthfuls, overriding any return greeting I could have had. "You were hardly prepped to face the big wide world. Still, it's an easy thing to come by. Deluded fools are aplenty here."

"Yeah, your interview last night," Ike says, still glued to his screen. "You threw an armchair. What was that about?"

"He panicked under pressure, of course!" Dedede answers for me. "It's what happens when you try to play with the big guns."

I glance up at him, unsmiling. "Imagine what happens when I stop playing."

Dedede has nothing to fire back. He blinks a few times, perhaps wondering (like myself, actually) if it was really me who said that. Falco, however, smiles for the briefest of moments. Snake gives a gruff laugh.

"You see how they've set up the limos." Dedede opts to change the subject and addresses no one in particular (everyone has no choice but to hear). "All our opponents are in the other limo. You're up against Meta Knight," he says to Lucas, as if he needs reminding. "Meta Knight's not in this limo. You're up against Ness," he says to Snake. "He's not in this limo either. You two are up against Fox," he informs the Ice Climbers. "He's not—"

"We get the picture, Dedede, put a cork in it," Ike utters.

Dedede doesn't quite put a cork in it; to our dismay, he is on an unrelenting mission to ward off any peace and quiet. "The Final's going to be on Destination," he announces confidently. He cracks open a can of fizzy drink and empties it into his mouth, the way a panicking gardener might try to revive a dying plant. I'm mildly surprised he doesn't slosh any down his front while the limo careers through the Kingdom. "It's alternated for the last three finals so it makes sense. FD's great news for projectile experts."

I look up at this – he is talking of my category, after all – but after my earlier insolence, Dedede has chosen to ignore me. Instead, he talks to Snake. "That is, of course, if you can get to the Final in the first place." He settles back in his seat and rips open another packet of crisps. "Meta Knight's going to eat you alive," he says across the limo to Lucas. I feel a little sorry for him because I think he might be taking it literally.

Dedede laughs, and it feels like the whole limo tremors in response. "Mark my words, Meta Knight will sleepwalk his way through the first half. He'll only put on his game face once the Semi Finals start. By that point, all the riffraff—" here, he waves his arm, hits me in the face and showers me in crisps "—will have been kicked out and he'll be left with the true fighters." He pats his stomach to make a point.

Lucario rolls his eyes, but that's about all the response Dedede gets. Most of us have either been looking out the window, staring at our feet or yawning tactlessly. Dedede seems unperturbed and trundles on about his thoughts on the Tournament. By the time we reach the Kart Circuit, I'm convinced we could all drop dead from a violent heart attack, and Dedede still wouldn't notice.

The limo pulls up at the western side of Mushroom Kingdom, at the Royal Raceway Hotel. Its doors open to a courtyard that seems to be steadily drowning in cherry blossoms.

"Pictures, please!" a Toad squeaks. He waves an important looking badge, ushering Smashers and photographers to the centre. The second limo releases the other eight opponents. After the photo session (which proves it's far easier to defeat Ganondorf than it is to take a picture without Dedede in it), Snake throws a large rucksack onto his back and taps my shoulder.

"Got your stuff?" he says. "Come on, we better get to the reception desk quickly unless you're not fussed about who you share a room with."

That gets me to move.

"Hello, Link, Snake!" Peach greets us at the reception. She's wearing a red dress today, which looks wonderful on her but proves impractical in a foyer full of love struck doormen. "We have nine suites booked out. Are you two happy to share?"

She doesn't look overly pleased at the idea, but Snake gives an affable shrug. "Yeah, what's the harm?"

The second Snake leans on the counter to sign in, Peach looks over the top of him. She gives the most minute shake of her head, a subtle reminder and warning that if anyone can cause me harm, it's Snake.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

END CHAPTER 13

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Marth's moniker may or may not have been influenced by a certain other Geass emperor and his accompanying theme. Yes, that's Erika from the Pokemon Gym. Yes, that is a hint of FalSam, because everyone has a weak point, and FalSam is my weak point. Dedede's autobiography may or may not be called Magical Me.

Thanks very much for reading, and thank you to the kind people who reviewed my previous chapter. Any comments or feedback for this one shall be most gratefully received!

-B