A/n: I’m so sorry for the delay! Life was pretty hectic for me; prom, finals, graduation, and placement tests for college were all within days of each other. Christ, I’m not even sure how I survived the past few weeks, but it’s been massively fun for the most part. Gonna miss those high school days. D:

Good news though! I managed to make friends with someone who has both (I think) Ike-related Fire Emblem games. I’m sure with sufficient begging, I may be able to convince her enough to lend them to me, though, truth be told, it may be too late at this point since I have the story and Ike’s characterization all plotted out already. Hmm...we’ll see.

Anyway, the reviews have been simply amazing and highly motivating. They make writing ‘The Flames’ all the more worthwhile. Thank you so much!

Special dedication for this chapter goes to my super awesome friend, Joe Pit. You fucking rock, man.

- - -

The Flames
Chapter Three:

The Confession

- - -

“Keep your arms bent!”

“Don’t pause in between steps!”

“Where the hell are you aiming?”

Zelda bit her cheeks so hard to keep from verbally lashing out (remembering that it was because of Ike that she was improving and that, really, cursing was so unbecoming of a queen) that she recognized the bitter copper taste of blood on her tongue and the bile in the back of her throat from hours worth of pent up frustration.

She sidestepped a vertical swing of his orange, suddenly aflamed sword, pondering if she had been absolutely insane the day she decided to train with him or whether her brain had been on vacation, because this—this “no breaks, no food” regimen of his—was going to be the death of her!

She was sweaty. She was hungry. She was sore down to her fingertips.

She wanted to kill him.

“Your footwork is atrocious.”

And he wasn’t making things any easier.

What began as spars became a game of sorts quickly thereafter—a game that started without notice, without sign, without acknowledgment that it even existed in the first place. A peculiar game, Zelda realized in hindsight, and for which the rules were never written but as clearly understood as the universal truths of the world: the sky was blue, the grass was green, Captain Falcon wore briefs everyday apart from Tuesdays (laundry day) when he wore nothing at all.

The first and most fundamental law was that there was to be no pleasant talking of any kind. Jibes and taunts and noises (especially from Ike, mostly from Ike) were guaranteed, almost required, but enjoyable inquiries as to how one’s day presently transpired were irrelevant and therefore nonexistent.

Why anyone would even choose to converse with such an ill-mannered swordsman was beyond her.

“Focus, woman!” Ike barked from across the field, and her eyebrow twitched at the nickname. “I’m not here so you can sulk.”

The second silently established law deemed that spars were held every other night, giving Zelda sufficient time to train alone or rest in between the often drilling sessions she had with Ike, who held nothing back when it came to criticizing every little fault of her performance.

Sometimes (oftentimes), she just wanted to sock him in the jaw for all his nasty comments. Other times (nearly as often), she simply wanted to stare, perhaps conclude finally whether or not his locks were anywhere near as soft as they appeared.

“What are you looking at?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing.” Not at you, for sure. “I’m strategizing.” ...how to touch your hair without making it awkward.

Peach had always wanted to discover the truth too (they had discussed it plenty), and it saddened Zelda to know that even if she were to discover the answer, her friend would have to remain uninformed. The third and final law, incidentally the most important and one which Ike never failed to casually reiterate whenever she retreated for the day, stated no one, aside from themselves, was ever to be aware of their clandestine meetings in the Training Room.

This, Zelda couldn’t have agreed with any more than she already did. Openly speaking of their sessions would’ve been the equivalent of unsheathing Link’s Master Sword and simply handing it to Ganondorf the next time the giant Gerudo man felt like dominating all of Hyrule—frightening, detrimental, and utterly stupid.

And speaking of Link...

She couldn’t even imagine the rumors that would fly if word ever got out, the whispers that would be exchanged of what could be going on but clearly wasn’t and nearly gave Zelda shivers just thinking about.

I can’t do that to Link, she declared passionately. As a girlfriend, as a princess, as a woman of honor and law...

It was precisely for this reason (and because Ike’s glaring face always seemed to appear in her mind’s eye whenever she even considered mentioning anything) that she kept word of it even from Peach, who, despite their friendship, Zelda knew was notorious for “accidentally” letting slip factoids of other Smashers’ lives, embarrassing tidbits that Peach had a knack for collecting like Link had a hobby for collecting bugs.

Things, for a while, were peaceful enough, however; Peach, though suspecting, asked nothing, and Zelda, though slightly ashamed, said nothing likewise, even though keeping it a secret was growing increasingly hard—especially when certain moments occurred during training, things she wished she could mull over with Peach but was thus forbidden.

“Now, let’s work on your posture.”

Zelda all but squeaked aloud when Ike suddenly materialized behind her, so close that she could feel the cotton of his shirt graze her bare back and hear his voice reverberate down her neck and smell those blasted apples all over again. When his hands clamped on her waist, she openly screeched and swung around so fast and so on impulse that it took her a while to realize that she had made a fist and that, in her wild turn about, had connected said fist with his face.

He was on the ground, chin blue, and bleeding from his bottom lip.

Oh, she murmured to herself, staring at her clenched hand in surprise. That had been first hit she had been able to land on him all night and it had successfully shut him up.

Somewhere from beneath several compact layers of dread and weariness, her pride flared to life with rejuvenating vigor. Smirking, she leaned forward, greeting the still fallen Ike with a friendly pat on the head, palm momentarily tickled by his messy blue tresses as they skimmed her skin.

Every bit as soft and thick as it looks, Peach.

“My posture is fine, thank you.”

Then, without further ado, she promptly turned around and left, grinning to herself in her exit as if she had won some battle.

As far as she was concerned, she had.

- - -

It was breakfast next morning when Peace decided it was promptly done existing.

Zelda and Peach, in customary fashion, were walking towards their customary booth with their customary lunches (which consisted of, thanks to Peach’s perseverance, all the customary delicacies that royals such as themselves were used to) immersed in customary friendly chatter. Zelda smiled at the pleasant norm of their morning ritual, had come to appreciate it as one of the few stable factors of her life.

“Oh, look!” Peach whispered fiercely then. “There’s Ike!”

Zelda’s elation quickly fell, and from her distance she recognized his cape and arrogant aura. Frowning, she wracked her mind to find some sort of justification for this predicament, since Ike sat nowhere near this area of the cafeteria and having him suddenly spring up was an unwelcomed shock to her nerves, making her both annoyed and anxious all the at the same time and in a multitude of doses.

Last night’s fiasco suddenly dawned upon her like a ton of bricks, shattering the last bits of calm routine into particles lost in the wind. She had been brazen—more brazen than she had ever been in her life. Was his appearance today some sort of sign, a declaration or subliminal message that he was sending her?

If it was, she had a fair guess what he might have been communicating.

She knew of men and their egotistical ways, had read upon the subject numerous times and had witnessed it countless more in her very presence. Ike probably felt infuriated by her rather surprising victory punch and wanted to retaliate by openly humiliating her in front of their peers.

Zelda swallowed the lump in her throat, grasping wildly for any semblance of the courage she had harbored the night before but nothing but a pitiful writhing mass remained.

If harassing was the case, it would be safest to avoid any contact with him. She could thus only hope, pray to the goddesses above her, that Ike would stay clear off their route.

“And he’s headed this way!”

So much for that, she grumbled to herself before furiously glancing around in order to piece together a quick escape, one that would preferably deter them from the incoming missile that was Ike. But they were far too along their trek to find another course, and turning around seemed impossible without a carefully coated excuse—something her brain suddenly found a too overwhelming task to complete.

Cursing her inabilities under pressure, she steeled her resolve and decided to march on forward instead. If she stared at the floor beneath her or the walls up ahead in passing, there was a chance they could go by without incident.

Don’t look up, Zelda. Don’t look up. Whatever you do, don’t—

Something sparkled in her peripheral vision, and in reflex she lifted her eyes.

Their gazes met instantaneously, and immediately she regretted it, for some invisible force locked her to his face with chains that stripped her of her resolve and rendered her weak. Perhaps it had been how intently his eyes were boring into hers, or the way his mouth was quirked ever so slightly upward, or even the almost magnetic spark the sizzled the air between them and slowed her proud, determined stride to a slow, aimless saunter.

Their exchange must have been no longer than three seconds, but it felt like forever until he finally passed, headed in the opposite direction, and left her acutely wondering why her heart suddenly felt like it had just run a mile. When she touched her cheeks, they were burning.

It wasn’t until she and Peach reached their booth and finally seated themselves that the Hylian princess noticed Peach’s intense glare from across the table.

Zelda opted for a little distraction.

“I must say, they prepared breakfast spectacularly today,” she began with a false sense of marvel. “This is quite the piece of...” she stabbed something randomly on her plate, “...lettuce, don’t you think?”

Peach pursed her lips and leaned over, unimpressed. “What was that?”

“The lettuce?”

“No,” Peach sighed in exasperation, “that...thing that just happened. Between you and Ike.”

Zelda tensed but covered her uneasiness with an expressionless nibble of her salad. “It was nothing.”

“No, nothing is what Wario has in between his ears,” Peach retorted, before taking a fierce bite of her toast and chewing it down noisily, her scowl growing tenfold. “What I saw a few minutes ago was clearly and undoubtedly something.”

“You must be seeing things,” Zelda scoffed, though inwardly she too pondered about what had truly transpired and if in actuality it was something she needed to talk about.

“As your best friend,” Peach huffed, before taking another large and loud mouthful out of her bread, “I...I am affronted that you are unwilling to share such a vital and necessary development of your life.” There was a sniff, a gentle tremble of the lips and a quiver of the chin currently coated with a thin layer of crumbs; Zelda realized with a jolt that her companion had begun to cry.

Her innards burned with self-loathing and guilt, and she grasped Peach’s hands firmly within her own. “Oh, Peach! Believe me, it isn’t anything like that!”

“Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

It felt like she was wedged painfully between two solid forces with no hope of breaking free unless she made a choice. Whatever preference she made, she knew the other option was going to be grossly affected—to what degree, she wasn’t sure.

When Peach drew back her to wipe away a few tears, something in Zelda suddenly snapped, and she fisted her hands. She was not going to lose a friend over him and their stupid secrets, reputation be damned! She was just going to have to remind Peach every once and awhile never to repeat any part of the confession to anyone else and hope that such efforts, in combination with Peach’s natural inhibitions, would be enough to keep the confidential information from spreading.

A quick glance around revealed that Ike was nowhere in sight and that no one of exceptional hearing was in earshot either. Safe, she breathed deeply to calm her jittery nerves and then offered to her sniffling friend, “If I tell you, will you stop crying?”

Zelda marveled at how quickly the tears were replaced with a grin on Peach’s face. “Of course!”

She wondered idly if she had been just played by Peach’s wondrous acting skills; someone—Mario, she faintly recalled—had warned her about them a long time ago.

Too late to back out now.

Still nervous, but equally determined to get this off her chest, the Hylian princess opened her mouth, pushing aside Ike’s glaring visage as it popped up in her mind and essentially ignoring the memory of his voice recounting the third law, before shifting closer so Peach could hear her voice’s soft volume.

And then she began, “That day I lost to Bowser, I went to go train...”

- - -

There was some acutely wrong with the lack of surprise in Peach’s reaction. In fact, Zelda felt a little duped when the gossipmonger didn’t immediately break into squeals or throw confetti happily in the air or demand they go chase Ike down to further investigate and perhaps record his feelings on the matter, because that was the Peach thing to do and Zelda had expected no less.

When the blond princess simply nodded her head and smoothed out the wrinkles from her dress at the conclusion of Zelda’s tale, warning bells rang in her head. She had thought the whole ordeal was rather wild and scandalous, risqué and unladylike, and just the kind of material Peach would have sucked up like a sponge.

Was it really not that big of a deal?

Peach coughed delicately and dabbed her lips with her napkin, and it was then that Zelda spotted a smile, satisfied and small and twitching as if its owner was trying her very hardest to hide it.

Wait a minute...Zelda’s eyes narrowed.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Startled, Peach looked up. “Knew what?”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, the more she leaned forward and stared at her friend steadily with an angry gaze. “That Ike was visiting the Training Room every night or so. And don’t,” Zelda added with further ferocity when Peach opened her mouth, “say that you didn’t because I can tell.”

Peach bit her lip. “I wasn’t going to deny anything, Zelda. I had...suspicions about the whole thing, but I needed you to confirm them since I wasn’t entirely sure he had listened when I told him—”

Zelda’s fork slipped through her fingers and clattered loudly against her porcelain plate of mixed vegetables that then spilled across her tray and into her heart-shaped fried eggs.

“You what?!” Zelda shrieked, her voice a higher octave than normal and so loud that the princess duo caught the attention of nearby Smashers, most notably of which were Lucario and his Pokémon tablemates now effectively glancing in their direction. Zelda swallowed and forced herself to whisper furiously instead. “You’re the one who told him how to get there?!”

Peach blinked innocently and gazed at her through her long lashes. “Was I not supposed to?”

I should have known, Zelda reflected numbly before another thought struck her like lightning. What else has she told him about me?!

Peach sat across from her the picture perfect example of virtuousness and naivety, but it was the all too recognizable twinkling in her eyes that made Zelda realize that it was highly likely Peach had given Ike more reasons to mock her for the rest of her life.

She groaned into her hands.

“Now, now, Zelda. From what you’ve told me, it can’t be that bad.” Peach smiled surely, tapping a manicured nail against her chin in thought. “Bandaging you with scraps from his cape, holding you close with his nice man-hands.” Her expression turned blissful, cheeks stained pink. “Seems like you’ve got it made, dear.”

Zelda glared through her fingers. “You’re forgetting Peach that, one: I have a boyfriend, and two: Ike is an infuriating tyrant who enjoys watching others suffer at the expense of his ego.” Something in her brain clicked like a puzzle falling into place, and she grasped Peach’s hands swiftly. “Did he threaten you? Is that why you told him about the Training Room? Because if he did—”

Peach laughed. “Zelda! Of course not! He didn’t even utter a word in my direction, too busy staring at you that afternoon.”

- - -

Several Days Prior

It was a well-known fact that the Brawl Arena benches were rather uncomfortable and tended to numb one’s hind quarters when sat upon for prolonged periods of time. Peach, however, resolved this problem with quick thinking on her part (since people of her status did not simply succumb to the mundane seating arrangements of commoners) by promptly telling Toad to bring a few cushions whenever they prepared to go observe a fight.

Though, truth be told, Peach did more observing of her fellow audience members than she did the brawls like everyone else. When a public announcement stated that Zelda was being pitted against Bowser, she hurried to the stands to immediately situate herself at the highest and furthest back row—umbrella perched, a cup of tea in hand—as such a vantage point allowed her to freely scrutinize her peers without having to look excessively obvious about it.

“Toad, my opera glasses, please.”

Her mushroom-shaped servant next to her, and seated subsequently on his own pillow, quickly dove into the knapsack he had brought along, producing not only her golden pair of binoculars but a small notebook and pen as well. The opera glasses were swiftly handed to Peach, who then lifted the pair towards her eyes and scanned the stage beyond them with a careful gaze, but the slim pink pad Toad kept for himself.

“Good,” Peach murmured, grinning excitedly, “Zelda isn’t here yet. We can make some pre-battle observations.”

Toad nodded before flipping through a few pages of the notebook to a clean new one, pen poised readily against the paper and waiting for her command like a racer anticipating the fire of a gun.

Binoculars still pressed against her face, Peach glanced towards the lower benches and at many backs of heads, running along them slowly and keenly as her ears strained to listen for any stray conversations. Very little was happening aside from the usual fight-related predictions and commentary, and she was about to dejectedly conclude her gazing when a sight slightly excluded from the rest of the crowd caught her attention and made her smile.

“Toad, record the date and place accordingly.” She paused briefly as he scribbled the instructions on paper before continuing, “Make note: Meta Knight and Jigglypuff are seated approximately five inches apart, hands slightly touching. Jigglypuff looks flushed, and Meta Knight appears to be better groomed than usual, mask especially shiny.”

She swerved a bit to the left to a figure currently in an animated conversation with Mario, though this sight made her smile fall in disgust.

“Also note: Luigi does not mind scratching his behind quarters in pub—”

A thump and shake of the bench beneath her suddenly cut her off and flung her into surprise. She spun around, opera glasses and all, towards the source of the sound and ensuing disturbance, only to see a mass of blue hair that covered her entire line of vision. At first, she suspected she had just spotted Marth, though a quick reference to her memories reminded her that he was seated several feet below next to Link.

Removing the binoculars instead revealed Ike.

She had never been this close to the infamous swordsman before, never had the opportunity to admire his chiseled profile and the grueling expression Zelda often complained about. He was sitting alone, elbows perched on his knees and chin resting on intertwined fingers and staring far, far ahead at the emerging figure of the brunette herself as she approached the stage. Peach’s eyes turned towards her best friend then back to her new row companion with multiplying curiosity.

Time to investigate, she concluded. A bright smile in place, she carefully scooted herself closer.

“Well, hello, Ike!” Peach uttered delightfully, undeterred when he made no response in return. “Fancy seeing you here. You rarely show up for these sort of things.”

Again, there was no sign of acknowledgment, though she did notice the way he tensed when Skyworld’s flourishing music began, signaling the start of battle. She briefly turned in the direction of the stage in time to catch Zelda dodge and then kick Bowser with a glowing foot and began to clap in tune with the crowd as it erupted in supportive cheers.

“You know,” she started again, “as Zelda’s roommate and friend, I have the strictest confidence she will win this match.”

Peach watched in fascination as his gaze momentarily flickered in her direction before quickly turning back; the moment, however, had been enough for her to catch the small hint of interest.

A response! she gleefully thought to herself. She swallowed her excitement (lest he became suspicious) and willed the muscles of her face from erupting into a coy smirk.

“She goes off to practice every night in the Training Room,” she continued, tone matter-of-factly and staring forward as to make it seem she was just making casual talk. “With the right directions, anyone can avoid the...”

The words died in her mouth as if they had suddenly hit a wall. Mouth left agape, she watched, horrified, as Bowser grabbed Zelda by her dress and pressed her towards the ground with a loud, resonating thud—a thud that hushed the audience’s cheering like someone had just flipped a switch and caused Ike beside her to grip onto the metal edge of the bench until his knuckles turned white.

He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat, as if Zelda’s name dangled from the tip of his tongue, but when Link beat him to it somewhere far below, he settled instead for clenching his teeth and furrowing his brows and glaring helplessly from his spot.

“She’ll be fine,” Peach reassured him, though she sounded anything but certain anymore. “She’ll—”

Bowser pulled back Zelda’s arm, mercilessly stretching the limb to its limit, and Peach inhaled sharply as her stomach lurched at the scene.

She’ll be fine, she assured herself inwardly now, since her voice box seemed to have shut down in her fit of worry and malfunctioning nerves.

Then, without warning, came the deafening crack of shattering bone, drowned almost instantly by the shocked gasps from the audience that followed. She witnessed from the corner of her eye, as her gut recoiled with a pang, Ike clench his eyes shut and...

- - -

“...and you should have seen the way he flinched when Bowser broke your arm, dear. It was heartbreaking,” Peach finished with a sigh, pressing a hand understandingly to her chest.

Zelda, however, did not need to rest anything against her bosom to know that her own heart was pounding relentlessly against the suddenly too small capacity it was provided, as if it wanted to escape from the overload of emotions that currently coursed through her body. She wasn’t even sure what she was feeling or how to react to the new information other than it was puzzling but oddly pleasing and made her life all the more complicated by association.

She laughed awkwardly. “That’s...impossible.”

Really, there was no reason for Ike to display such concern for her considering they got along as well as Fox and Wolf did—very rarely, even when highly sedated. In fact, the further she thought about it, allowed her brain to piece together and process it with an analytical ability she was renowned for (and perhaps cursed with), the more she was beginning to think that perhaps Peach had seen wrong or was simply misinforming her.

“Believe me.” Peach grasped Zelda’s face with both hands and pinched her cheeks gently in emphasis. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Well...

While it was true that Peach did have an immoral love for gossiping, whatever left her mouth was almost always never short of the truth. She had the vision of a hawk when it came to noticing behavioral shifts of the like and an even crazier skill for drawing conclusion upon them.

Zelda massaged the bridge of her nose to fend off the throb of an incoming headache. “It makes no sense, Peach.”

Peach, with sudden wisdom beyond her years, patted Zelda empathetically on the arm. “Men often make little sense, dear.”

- - -

A/n: 4,000+ words. That’s how long this chapter is. And here I was aiming for somewhere near half that.

Well, at least the story has finally begun rolling! One of the hardest problems I have with writing is getting it started and sticking with it before the crux of it begins.

The crux for “The Flames,” of course, I mean by the next chapter.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four – The Jungle

Lunch forgotten in front of them, Link gently skimmed her cheeks with his thumbs. “You look awfully tired.” And then laughingly he added, “Doing something late at night that I should know about?”

Excited? XD Please review!