A/n: Huzzah for ACTUALLY UPDATING! ...Um, I feel kinda guilty, because this is a pre-written story...I actually wrote it for a Teen Ink thing at my school, but the original version did include Marth and one of my OCs (she's not in this version)...so I modified it for school...and now I modified it back to a tad of it's original form. I'd upload the real version but the computer I wrote it on no longer has internet. Boo. Anyway just a quick note, yea, I went with the not-much-believed theory that Link and Zelda are related. (I choose not to believe it because I LOVE Zelink.) Just so ya know!

Now, enjoy!:)Sword Dances

The crowd roared its thrilled approval as they anticipated the promising match to begin. They could hardly bear their eagerness; they were sick, twisted animals.

They, however, were not the only ones anxiously awaiting the start. The blue-armored prince's body language was stoic as he gazed into the audience's boisterous depths, and his countenance would have been impassive, had it not been for his betraying actions. He nervously shifted his sword, his clammy hand clutching the silver hilt desperately.

As the spectators continued bellowing their selfish, horrifying needs, the blue-eyed prince stared phlegmatically away from them and into the distance. How had this happened? When had his life turned around so abruptly – so cruelly?

He supposed it began on his chase through the jungle – and ended with that dazing, petrifying, ominous burst of scarlet-staining liquid.

The young man shuffled about on his blue-booted feet, proof that he was still alive and well – perhaps not "well", but alive, nonetheless. He considered he had something to be grateful for, but to him it did not matter much. Maybe now he was breathing, thinking, worrying, a miracle of nerve and instinct and drumming heart – but he was already dead.

Yes! It was honest. He was already dead, despite his valiant heart, fighting and bounding hopelessly to span on his hours; at this point, more likely only minutes. He was a man marked for slaughter; and though he would be given his fighting chance, and it was true that his last breath would be on the stroke of his famished sword, he was dead. He had been dead since that flash of vivid and intense ruby red.

The prince closed his eyes, his hand on his temple. He had never thought it'd end like this…at least he would die with his honor.

His honor? His honor? What was honor, to a corpse? What was honor, when he finally departed from this life? What was honor, as his soul slipped away from it? What was justice, the slaying of innocent men? Who had done nothing dreadfully wrong, that definitely did not deserve to be slaughtered like animals? Where was the impartiality in murdering someone who had strived to stay pure and away from sin, whose only peccadillo was being born into another country? Where was their honor?

He opened his eyes, endeavoring to swallow the throbbing, shameful lump in his throat.

After all, it is not so easy to die.

The auburn-haired woman's stunning amyethyst eyes were hidden as they frosted in tears.

It is not, after all, so easy to kill.

"Courage," someone whispered in her ear, and she felt the person embrace her. She fell into his arms effortlessly, yet for the first time in her memory, they failed to console her.

"I have faith in you."

"Brother!" she cried sharply, stepping away from him. As a few people turned their heads to them, she lowered her voice and bowed her head.

"Don't say that. You're only hurting yourself." Her tone was distressing, but solemn, and impressively stable. "I don't want you hurt." Too.

He looked at her, pushing back his ebony locks, but it was to no avail, and they fell back over his scarlet eyes. "You'll be fine."

She glanced at the crowd, and he put his hands on her shoulders.

"You're about to become a woman! Of course you can do this! What is holding you back, sister? This will be very easy, I assure you. I took a look at your opponent, you know, out of curiosity. He is nothing, I promise. You could defeat him in a heartbeat."

"Shyamal…you don't understand…"

He grinned confidently, his gleaming pallid fangs pressed against his dark lip; his impudence repulsed her, and she turned away angrily.

"Leave me. I don't wish to speak to you. Leave me, Shyamal! Where is Link? I cannot comprehend why I spoke to you….Leave me be!"

The shadowy figure grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. "I am Link," he hissed, his terrible grin showing. She struggled away from his smoldering, intelligent, devious, and tempting bloody eyes, but there was nothing she could do, and soon, purple was lost in red.

"Zelda!" Hastily a sword was thrust through Shyamal's torso, not near enough to hit the maiden. The shade's snarl was fierce as he cried, "Wicked Link!" Then he began to fade away, strand by stand of spiraling, sinking smoke. As the black mist curled around her feet, Zelda buried her head in her arms. How had this happened? And again…

"Shh, he's gone," consoled her true brother, as he helped her to her feet. "He's gone, darling…"

She composed herself rather impressively, but her expression was curiously, slightly frighteningly distant. "He's not…you know that as well as I. You understand this as much as I understand that I must go into that arena and die."

Link shook his head, his blond hair veiling his own jade eyes. "We know nothing of the future or what is to pass, so there is no reason to speak of it as if we do. Just go in there…fight for me, Zelda. Fight for us."

Expectedly, but dreadfully, the siblings heard her name announced. She grimaced at him, and he wrapped her into a tight embrace.

"I love you, Zelda," he reminded her, as he led her to the great gates. "Fight for us."

She smiled weakly. "I love you too, brother." One last tristful smile, and he was off.

You could defeat him in a heartbeat.

Why did she have to be the one to make this decision? Why did she have to demand when a soul's time was up on earth, sent into the murky unknown?

Let it be my last.

Prince Marth stepped onto a long, flat platform. Violet paint covered the area, and a dazzling background awed him as he stood there, already tensing up. The sky flashed different shades of every color imaginable, and some never before seen. He could have easily stayed and watched it change forever, but the same thought that had echoed around his head pierced him yet again.

It's time to fight to the death.

He silently and rigidly awaited his opponent.

Zelda appeared on the same platform. For a second, she scanned the crowd for a glimpse of her brother; he was the only thing she ever had.

Then the scene taking place behind her made her gasp. It was breathtakingly beautiful. She stared, not even remembering what she was there for, until a quiet cough interrupted her musing.

She spun around, feeling her body automatically shift into the instinctual and prepared poise of battle.

Then she saw her foe.

He stared.

She blinked.

With a jolt, she saw a sword strapped to his side, and reality struck her sharply in the face.

Time to fight to the death.

Marth continued staring. She was so….Beautiful didn't even describe her. Gorgeous, radiant, and mesmerizing were all better adjectives. Was she even real?

He had about a quarter of a millisecond to tear out his sword and deflect the slash she swiped at him, but somehow he accomplished it.

The fight was on.

As the battle begun, Zelda was astounded. She'd heard whispered rumors of his swordplay, but none of them had done him any justice as he lunged, parried, and twisted with his blade. Just like the sky behind them, she could have observed him forever as he hacked and slashed with an unmatchable grace, an infallible determination, and an overwhelming beauty. He twirled away with effortless flicks of his wrist and unerring movements of his arms, so incredibly stunning she had half a mind to call a truce, ask him to demonstrate, and sit there until the end of time watching him dance with the sword.

At least until she remembered all those hypnotizing strokes were trying to take her down. With a hasty breath and summon of willpower, she began to fight back instead of just parry the beautiful boy's attacks.

And, yes, he was beautiful. Again, yes, she would never really use that word to describe a man, but there was truly no way around it. He was beautiful. Not in a feminine way though; his flawless face was strong, his jaw clenched; sweat was already beading on his forehead as he kept trying to get the better of her. His muscles were clearly outlined in the uncomfortably warm-looking outfit he wore, though his weapon never slowed, never failed.

The prince hadn't exactly known what to expect when he was dragged into this godforsaken place, or when he'd been told he would be executed. He had still been too bewildered to make much sense of anything, until about thirty seconds ago, when it all caught up to him.

He had not, however, anticipated a sword-wielding warrior of a woman.

Nor had he imagined how fantastically entrancing she would be to watch.

Her lengthy, straight, and mahogany hair flew around her like a whip as she dipped and whirled to avoid the razor-sharp edge of his sword, bested only by her razor-sharp reflexes. She was spellbinding as she flowed from stroke to stroke, completely in control and every strike perfectly executed. Every one of her movements came to him in different ways, as though he were studying a broken reel.

She would twist around, her skirt flaring and her hair fanning about her in regular speed (which was still awesomely fast). As soon as she turned back to him though, strange black blade poised above her head, the sword fell in slow motion, in which he dodged easily and attempted to attack back. She was like a cobra, recoiling swiftly and striking with the skills of one. Yet what cobra matched her beauty?

Really, a better question was, did anything match her beauty?

For the beginning of the battle, he had seemed in favor; all she had done was block his attacks. Though, now, he was certainly impressed as she fought back hard. He gripped Falchion tighter, his blows increased in intensity, but he felt something slipping. Panic bloomed in his chest as he began to hold her off instead of trying to land a hit.

They had been in this fierce combat for about two minutes now although it felt like twenty years. Every second, every position counted as they continued to fight for the win and for their lives. Zelda wasn't about to give up, though it seemed he wasn't either.

Back and forth, they swept around the platform, each trying to keep distance from the edge. Several times they would brush the edge, and the audience would gasp dramatically. But they always kept at it, engaged in an intense game they simply couldn't lose. Their clashing swords would bring them within an inch of each other, and whenever this happened Zelda had kept her eyes down. It was a foolish choice but she was too fearful to glance up and into his eyes. She felt his steady and intent gaze always upon her as they continued to dance with the blade. They would spin away, and the fiery fight looked something like a tango when they wheeled and sidestepped, almost seductively, though that wasn't really what was on their minds. At least until something happened.

Throughout the melee, Marth had realized something.

They were perfectly matched. They had been in a deadlock since it begun.

Yes, the battle tipped every once in a while in his direction, every now and again in hers – but neither of them had lost. Yet.

Or so he thought.

Then came one of those moments – the unfathomable second when their bodies were almost touching, and he felt something stir inside of him – not a stranger but not familiar.

Alarmed, he realized he'd lost his focus on the fight and it was now centered on her face. But for a second, something happened. For a second, he allowed everything around him to stop. For the first time in his memory, his sword wavered in the face of his opponent.

Their faces were an inch away, so close if he leaned forward just a bit, he would kiss her.

Zelda couldn't help but lower her guard when he slowly lowered his sword, and she noticed his eyes for the first time in the battle. He was a half a foot taller than her. She realized this as she finally forced herself to look into his eyes, though she allowed them to roam his face for a second before they did.

She was stupefied by their beauty. Glimmering cerulean faded into the stormiest, fieriest ultramarine. Beside their paralyzing magnificence, they were intelligent and strong-willed, yet soft and kind. So, so enchanting…

Her eyes were violet, like the young forget-me-nots that bloomed in the spring of his country. Purer than any gem and sweeter than any candy. That sounds odd for someone as ferocious as she was with a sword, but he could see her nature was like that. It almost seemed as though he could see directly to her soul through those amethyst eyes….

Link watched his baby sister, standing along with the crowd only to see what was going on. Confused yells had bumped into either side of his ears, some different fans asking him questions he couldn't answer; he was just as bemused. Why had the fight stopped?

And he finally gained some sight of the arena.

He looked up to see Zelda, her sword arm slack at her side as her lips were suddenly claimed by Marth.

Zelda stood there. She had no idea what had just happened. But the next thing she knew, the fight was on again, the beautiful boy rushing at her with his blade shining.

Without thinking she parried the attack and lunged forward, to his right, but before they could reengage their swaying around the stage, she nimbly stepped to his side as he returned her lunge with a downward stroke. She had half a mind to call off the fight, but that would most likely be the end of her, considering the fire that was blazing in his stormy eyes.

She swirled herself away and plunged right back into the battle, banging him out of his dazed state by spinning on the ball of her foot, sword out, a move she'd picked up from her brother. Still off guard, he jumped out of the way. As he regained his wits, he clanged his sword into hers, stopping it instantly. Ouch, should have seen that one coming, Zelda thought as she rolled her shoulder, trying to get it back into mint condition.

The boy flew at her, taking advantage of the situation, and slammed his sword against hers with such a jolt her shoulder actually fell out of socket. She let out a cry of pain.

Unknowingly to her, Marth's ultramarine eyes winced as she yelped. Why had he just done that?

Suddenly something clicked back into place, and he felt his comfort zone lock in again, the zone where he had no problem with slashing down enemies, killing nameless and numberless men, and walking away without a problem on his conscience.

That was the name of the game, was he wrong?

She raised her now shaking sword weakly. She had switched to her right hand, he saw, but her whole body trembled.

For a second they stared at each other, Zelda in pain and Marth with a cold determination.

I'm sorry, Link.

This is too easy.

Then he whammed Falchion against her unnamed blade with a casual flick of his wrist, sending it spinning out of her palm. The crowd roared in delight, a single word floating above their chanting mouths as Zelda curled to the ground, wondering how the battle had switched so abruptly.

Finish, finish, finish! Finish!

Link gaped in horror.

Finish finish finish!

Marth stared down at her cruelly, his face unfeeling.

Finish, finish, FINISH!

Zelda knew her last breath was coming. She felt her heart began to hammer against her rapidly expanding lungs. Silently she prayed. Wordlessly, hopelessly, and pointlessly she sent out a message to her brother, her lifeline, her only family that had protected her from any and every harm. All, it seemed, except this one.

FINISH FINISH FINISH!

Link ran through the screaming audience, whose pleas were turning into commands. He didn't have a plan or any solid thought. All he could form in his mind was getting to Zelda.

FINISH! FINISH! FINISH!

Zelda raised her deep emerald eyes to her conqueror.

FINISH! FINISH! FINISH!

And Marth drew up his sword…

Zelda closed her eyes.

Link halted in the crowd, tears leaking out.

FINISHFINISHFINISH!

The prince threw the sword down, its razor sharp point about to meet her heart…

But not quite.

Zelda's eyelids flew open as she heard metal blang on the ground. She couldn't have mistaken that clattering sound, even above the spectators' wild, outraged, relieved, and bewildered roars. She snapped her bowed head up in amazement and shock, instantly meeting the boy's eyes, his staggeringly beautiful eyes.

In their divine depths she saw something worse than horror, a fear more terrifying than expressible, and woeful apologies.

Mouth agape, Zelda watched in a blurred vision as the other-worldly handsome young man extended his hand. She took it, befuddled, but wholly grateful. With his gentle support she stood up, the pain in her shoulder mounting to full level. A cry snaked to her mouth but she beat it back by biting her lips. Zelda tried to steady her legs as various other injuries, all ones she hadn't felt during the battle, began to progressively throb. Then again she was shaken as her defeater knelt on the ground in front of her.

Marth bent his head, too ashamed to look her in the eye. Which, he knew, was pathetic, but he couldn't bear the thought of what he had almost done…which made him wonder what it would be like if that almost weren't there….He felt a chill race down his back. Already, the idea of losing her was utterly unthinkable….

"Let me repay for my mistake. Take my life, my lady, for so very wrongly even considering taking yours. Please, take it; let me atone for my sin."

Zelda put a trembling, elegant and pale finger to his open lips. His warm breath wrapped around it for a second, then disappeared, leaving it unnaturally chilly; in the next second it was warmed again as he took more uneasy breaths.

Zelda shook her head.

"You needn't do anything," she whispered, her voice fainter than she liked. She doubted he heard it, but then his face softened slightly, falling gently out of the tight ashamed lines. But she could see he still hesitataed in believing her. Very gently she pulled him from his feet. He rose easily, but didn't hold himself with pride. Instead his shoulders drooped.

He was astounded to feel the girl's arms wrap tenderly around his torso. He glanced down, biting his lip to keep his mouth closed, and saw her place her head very softly on his chest. Prince Marth felt his heart race, and then realized she could hear it, with slight embarrassment. But he watched as she smiled upon hearing his erratic heartbeat.

Ever so kindly he secured her in his arms, pressed her warm body closer to his. She returned the pressure, and he felt something from her. Suddenly he understood that he was forgiven, and then perhaps some. He was about to say something, when a very nice smile widened his lips. They had forever to do that.

A/N: Please forgive any mistakes! I just re-modified it in about ten minutes, so...yeah. REVIEW! Oh and if anyone cares, a new chapter of "The Prince's Tale" just may be in store...;)

Tingle, tingle, kah-loo, limpah! (I decided I needed a bit of a flashier outro.)

~Araceli L