Chapter Text
I had liberated Altea through blood, sweat and tears.
I had survived its invasion as a youngling. Father was slain before my eyes. I became a king through grief, exiled from the soil my bloodline belonged to.
I matured, built a circle of loyal allies, mastered Falchion and exterminated Medeus, the Shadow Dragon who orchestrated the invasion. I believed the suffering would end.
It was not. Medeus was revived and took the soul of my former ally Hardin with him. I was forced to fight again. Only death could wrest Hardin out of evil. Death under my sword.
Yet, none of these stains on my life, supposed to sharpen a king for every next disaster in his life, had prepared me for this.
It all started on a normal day, years after I had killed Medeus for good. Altea had entered an age of prosperity, citizens lived in peace and the house of Lowell was as stable as a mountain.
That day ceased to be normal when my messenger warned of a distressing sight.
An ominous cloud, sporting a huge singular eye like a Cyclops, was hovering over the center of the kingdom. Reports of its piercing gaze and unnerving stillness rang alarm. It reminded me of the tales of demons and ghosts that terrified my childhood. As a concerned king, I deployed my armies and set off to ground zero.
We gathered our strongest warriors, wisest clerics and sharpest weapons. All citizens were ordered to stay in their homes for utmost safety. We charged toward the town square, about to slay a monster before it could wreak havoc on Archanea.
I led the infantries, fixing my gaze at the sky to strike the demon cloud, and commanded the archers to point upward. Caeda and Ogma were ready to counterattack. Falchion and Fire Emblem rested in my hands, polished and sharpened to their best potential.
The cloud floated into our sight, and upon us fell the gaze of… a cherubic eye?
It was an eye as round as a ball, its iris shining like a marble. Caeda stared into its pupil and slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it endearing, Marth?” she said. “It looks more like a baby than an invader.”
As a monarch, I kept my incredulity to myself, but before I could rebuke her-
“Looks can deceive,” Ogma chimed in, crossing his toned arms. His expression was inexplicably neutral, as if the cloud was another lowly soldier. “That eye might shoot beams.”
Building on Ogma’s suggestion, I directed the troops to keep their shields at the ready. Seconds of earth-shaking uncertainty passed. The cauldron of violence simmered, about to boil over at any moment.
No attacks. No lightning. No arrows. Nothing.
The cloud continued its gaze, its iris rocking from side to side, more studious than aggressive. Even I felt a pang of sympathy at its innocence. Caeda must be right.
Then, a parchment fell out of the cloud’s vaporous body. A speck in our eyes, it drifted to the ground like a feather. I discerned a spot of red on its front.
As soon as it dropped the parchment, the cloud vanished into thin air, vapor billowing in all directions as it dissolved into the sky.
It was just a visitor.
What a waste of peril! My subjects’ lives, my men’s routines, my kingdom’s councils, all were disrupted by a false alarm. I pitied the brides and grooms who postponed their weddings, the children driven out of their playgrounds, the clerks who shut their stores… If only whoever first sighted this strange cloud was a little more observant…
As we were about to turn back to the castle, a senior knight stopped us to show the parchment the cloud released. It was Sir Jagen, my former caretaker and most loyal knight. Upon close inspection, the parchment was an envelope, and the red spot was a seal stamped with a cross. A letter.
“Your Majesty, the cloud being has a message for you,” he said, handing over the parchment. “Please read it to us all.”
I glimpsed at the crimson seal when Caeda gave me a suggestion. “Sir Jagen, would not there be a wider audience at the castle?”
“I will read this letter at the next council,” I announced to my men. “Assemble at the court. Renounce the curfew.”
A chorus of agreements followed. Weary and whiplashed, we trudged back to Castle Lowell to resume our interrupted rest and duties until the next council. What does this peculiar cloud want to disclose to Altea? An invitation to its equally peculiar homeland? A powerful spell that chooses me as worthy of its knowledge? Or, as Ogma may suggest, a declaration of war?
At the royal court, I rested on my throne in my regalia. Caeda, my ever-supportive Queen and advisor, was in another throne by my side. Surrounded by the murmurs of the nobles around us, we discussed what the cloud’s letter may hold.
A familiar voice roused my attention. “Lord Marth,”
My gaze shifted to the center of the court. Sir Jagen presented the envelope. “I have retrieved the letter of the mysterious visitor. As you had promised, I entrust it to you to unveil its contents.”
I received the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. My eyes widened at the childish, simplistic handwriting, unfitting for a message to a monarch. Anyway, innocent cloud beings might not have the physical capacity for proper handwriting. I read the first words aloud,
“Dear King of Famicom-90 or whatever your planet is,”
I paused, cleared my throat and read the sentence again. Famicom-90? Planet? Was this the proper way to address a kingdom? Caeda and the nobles stared at me, taken aback at what I had just said.
“Please calm down.” Caeda signaled the court with a raise of her hand. “These are the exact words written in the letter.” How concerning of her to solve the audience’s doubts before debates start, isn’t it? She turned to me and said, “Your Majesty, continue with the letter.”
I read the letter's body, “You have been invited to the greatest, grandest, amazingest, most marvelous, Kirby-bashing-est spectacle in the galaxy!”
I winced at the grammatical errors. How did this letter pass proofreading? Did they skip the process already? And what kind of language is ‘Kirby-bashing-est’? My eyes turned to Caeda for her thoughts on the matter.
She was shielding her mouth behind her hand fan, stifling laughter. Laughter.
“Excuse me.” I gestured to the court to douse the impending farce before it could spread its fire. “Please keep a dignified head regardless of its contents.”
My eyes fell on the content again, awaiting the signature with bated breath.
“It’s the Super Smash, where the cream of the crop from worlds all over duke it out! Fire, lightning, swords and explosions are guaranteed to show up Kirby dazzle the entire universe (under my commanding presence, of course). It’s gonna be the greatest festival EVER!!”
Caeda’s stifles became louder and less strained, followed by some of the ministers covering their mouths in amusement.
What was this? Strikethroughs and informal language throughout a formal letter? The content was just as juvenile as the handwriting, if not more. Maybe a young fan procured this letter and entrusted its delivery to the strange one-eyed cloud.
I skipped paragraphs of inane language until the signature, a complete debasement of letter etiquette and an appropriate clincher to this comedy of an invitation.
“Yours Complacently, His Mighty Majesty King Dedede of Dream Land, Greatest Showman in the Galaxy, Planet Popstar.”
Caeda couldn't hold it any more. She let out a hearty, prolonged laugh, not even covering it with her hand fan. I could hear the not-so-faint chortles among the nobles and the ministers gaped at the absurdity I had just read aloud.
”My lord,” questioned Jagen, “is this a real invitation or a child's prank?”
”The seal confirms the letter is legitimate despite its contents,” I replied. “King Dedede may as well be a child who ascended to the throne early. We have a clear example in Archanea: Allan the Fourth, who was crowned at ten years of age.”
”But this letter looks like it was written by someone half his age, I suppose. However, you are right about the seal. No ordinary child on the street can procure it.”
“Thank you for presenting this letter, my lifelong knight,” I bid with a flourish of my scepter.
“It was an entertaining read,” added Caeda, tiring out from her laughter.
"Ci," I whispered under her breath, "this is not a jester's creation. It is a real letter, however amateurish it may be. There are even threats against a person named Kirby scattered throughout."
"They're not threats," she said, "they're the sort of verbal banter children in the playground exchange with each other. Biting, but meant in good fun."
I sighed. This 'Super Smash', according to the letter, will begin six months from today. Considering the mention of dukes, will Dream Land's duchy play a prominent role in it? Judging by the mention of fire and lightning, I presumed it was a festival of lightshows celebrated by the local cloud beings, of which the one that dropped the letter on Altea this morning was a part of.
As I delved deeper into my impressions of the letter, more and more questions demanded unspoken answers. How could I go to another planet for the festival? I couldn't fly freely in space like the cloud people. The festival will happen in six months, but there was no mention of preparations to undergo, venues to attend, or rules to follow. As Sir Jagen theorized, a child monarch may know no better. There was one last question that, despite its triviality, tempted me.
What grudge did the monarch have against this 'Kirby'?