This is a fanfiction that I came up with a year ago. I might be continuing it… If I feel like it. Meanwhile, here’s the first chapter! Oh and by the way, Marth is not my own character. He is a prince from Fire Emblem and he's great at using a sword. This story is adapted from Fire Emblem: the Dark Dragon and the Sword of Light. Most of the other characters are mine. Well, if I can remember who the other characters are at this point...

The soldier briskly walked, his eyes focused ahead. The young boy turned to look at him, his blue eyes shining with joy, his blue hair swishing softly behind him. His cape fluttered in the wind as he stood up from his kneeling position. The young prince of Altea had just been tending to his beloved rose plant which he had lovingly and carefully grown in the garden at the other end of the town for two weeks now.

"Yes? Is something the matter?" The prince smiled and brushed his fringe from his eyes.

"The King would like to see you, my Prince. He awaits your arrival in the main hall." The soldier bowed respectfully and the prince nodded.

"I'll go at once." He bent down to pick up his watering can and gardening tools, then straightened up, dusting the front of his embroidered blouse.

The soldier followed his young liege into the town where they had to pass through to reach the castle. The young prince smiled and waved at everyone who came into sight.

"Top of the morning, Prince Marth!" A villager called out to him as he passed by, and Marth waved back. Many other villagers called out and greeted him as he passed, not out of respect but out of love for their prince. The friendly teenager was to take over as King one day. The villagers all had no qualms about it. Marth often came down to the village, spending time with the villagers, getting to know their children. He was, everyone knew, going to lead this kingdom to the best of his abilities and they would support him no matter what happened.

Marth entered the castle's central courtyard and hurried up the steps to the main hall.

"Thank you," he turned back to the soldier who bowed obediently. "Shut the door after me, please."

Down the hall sat his father, the King, on the throne. Behind him stood his most trusted advisor and right-hand man, General Jurgen. The General was a man of large build. Marth rarely came into contact with him, but when he did, he never dared to look into his eyes. Being a man of few words, the General gave Marth the idea that he was extremely stringent.

Marth strided up to his father and bowed in respect. The King got up from his seat and walked towards his son.

"Marth."

"Yes, Father."

The King placed one hand on Marth's shoulder.

"I am, as you know, getting older. One day I will pass the crown over to you, as well as the Falchion. I will need you to be strong for me, for Altea."

"Father, why are you telling me this now?"

"I have a feeling that something is about to happen; something that will change all our daily lives. So, Marth, promise me that you will do me proud. Here."

Marth felt something slide into his hair. Raising his hand to feel his hair, he touched a hard metal object.

"It's your mother's favourite tiara. She would have wanted me to give it to you. Now run along. child."

Marth nodded and bowed. Striding towards his room, he could not help but feel it too. The foreboding of something stronger and far more powerful, heading in his direction.

Outside the door of the main hall, Princess Gael slipped quietly away.