Marth could always be found in the library early in the mornings. It was more open than his study - he thought the air was much too stuffy, and stayed there as little as possible. More often than not, he could be found in the chair closest to the fireplace with his nose in a book, or at the table furthest from the entrance to the library jotting down notes in his neat, elegant script. He was usually the only one there. Elice would sometimes pop her head in and remind her brother to "please eat something" or remind him to sleep. He would then come back down to reality, put his things away, and go have dinner or go lay down in his bed.
Today, Marth was not by the fire reading a book or signing his name to paperwork. His head was cradled in his arms, his hand still holding the feathered pen, the letter he was writing forgotten underneath his arms. Sometimes, Marth ended up sleeping there. It was like a sanctuary, a home within a home. His home.
And he would sleep there until Elice would come in, sigh exasperatedly, and gently shake him awake until he realised that, no, this wasn't his bedroom and yes, he really ought to go to bed now.
For now though, the sleeping prince was left alone, breathing softly, deeply, at the table by the fire - he wanted a change in scenery - all by himself.