A/N: Hello. Yes, another one of my fics. I know I still have to redo the high school one, but I'm going to focus on this one for now. I hope you enjoy it. I sure as hell got pissed off, after reading all the other fics that have Zelda as a weak crybaby. Or, a weak crybaby with random events of girl power. I mean, come ON. There has to be something going on in the castle, and I'm going to do my best to make this ficlet angst full and cold, yet warm your heart at surprising times.
Disclaimer: I do not own Zelda or any of the characters from the Legend of Zelda series. I only own my beautiful nerd plushie, and please don't take that away from meee!
Frozen Flame
.:Chapter 1:.
Doll of Porcelain
"Yes father."
Her words held no life. No meaning. No emotion. They were just words to her, that was all. That's all she is. A machine that spoke, moved, acted, and felt mechanically, with traces of natural grace intertwined within. It was not her place to decide whom she would love, and whom she would marry. Not that she knew what those two words meant anyway. All she knew was that she was 8 years of age, and already far too wise to be allowed any fun.
What was fun anyway?
What did that word mean? This question, she knew, was always asked, but never answered. How she longed for yesterday, where she had met a mysterious boy. But, today is not yesterday, and would never be. So she stood there with quiet eyes, and merely nodded. Her eyes were cold, empty, drained.
"Zelda, I hope you appreciate what I am doing for you."
"Yes father."
The king sitting upon the throne before her still looked young, even for his age, but his eyes held the cold wisdom of sight. Surely, he had seen much in his years, and the wisdom gained from the experiences did not affect his already cold outlook, his negative view on so many things.
"Must you be so polite?"
"Yes father."
"Can't you call me papa? Or daddy? Why must you be so formal?"
"..."
She continued to look at him through an empty expression. It was amazing, how an 8 year old can be so cold. Yet, inside, her hopes rose. Perhaps her father did care? Perhaps she didn't have to be so mechanical? Perhaps she could be... happy? Should she dare to believe that?
No. Experience had taught her better. Too many things... too many things seen, remembered within the eyes of a broken child. Once a porcelain doll now shattered upon the freezing stone ground.
Now... rearranged and fitted into the shape of a mechanical doll.
"Because you made me, father."
"I made you?"
"Yes father."
She watched as the king seemed to deliberate her answer. The throne room was beautifully decorated, the ceilings high, and the corridor narrow. Beautiful paintings, and sculptures decorated the walls, and a soft, plush, crimson carpet stretched out beneath her.
Zelda wore the normal formal dress for a princess. Her hair tied back and behind her, hidden in a white cloth, with purple decorations. Her dress was simple, with the mark of the triforce in the front. Her blue eyes were empty, glassy almost, as though she really were a doll of porcelain.
"Do you hate me, princess?" For such kind words, did they seem so meaningless when spoken out of the King's mouth.
"No father." Her response was too quick for the King, but he merely nodded, as he always did. He knew, as the many servants of the castle did, that his daughter was too alike him for both to get along comfortably. He merely sighed inwardly, the emptiness inside his burdened heart throbbing within his thin frame.
"Return to your studies, then, my daughter."
"Yes father."
Zelda turned, and walked. Her steps were mechanical, her bodyguard and ever-watchful guardian, Impa, following behind her.
For a child so young, and so small, her presence brought about a cold shudder to all nearby. She was not always like this. No. She only gave a cold outlook just before, and just after, seeing her father, or seeing her mother. Which was exactly where she was going.
The rain was not rain. The sky was clear, but cloudy. Everything was nothing to her. Her mother could not talk, she could not move. And she did not breathe. The grass was green, and the mud was not. She hated it all, but she could care less. Hate and Anger and Fear and Pain were all she could understand. And happiness. That one emotion was brought and revealed when she forgot everything else.
But one with a mind and wisdom of hers could not forget. Never, could she forget.
"Hello Mother."
There was no response. There never was, and never will be.
Impa stood, far more taller than the young girl. An umbrella was held, keeping both of them from being soaked by the bone chilling water of the heavens. Eyes that held remorse, she surveyed the area. The young child went through mood swings, which should not happen, but always did. The outside was cold. A very cold place, but the castle was cold as well. Perhaps much colder.
The central graveyard of Hyrule castle was one rarely seen by, and rarely talked about. The ancestors of the Harkinian family stretched nearly to the beginning of the worlds, and the three goddesses. The gravestones were all beautiful, but none were as beautiful as the one that stood tall before the small porcelain princess.
"Here lies Ivorie Harkinian.
A Kind Woman, A Mother, And A Queen.
Rest In Peace."
Zelda merely stood at the headstone. Reading. And Rereading. And rereading. Over and Over and Over again. She hated herself. Her mother had died, and she could not cry, because she had cried a thousand tears, and still lived.
Her mother had often visited her dreams, telling her of her love, and how she should forgive herself, and live on. But... Zelda could not. Not for all the wonderful things in the land could she bring herself to love herself, or anyone else. She would regain what she had lost by filling what she will create. She will study, and train, and live for the fulfillment of the nothing. The black that threatened to take over her soul, should she give up and surrender to her self pity and hate.
Which is why Zelda is a princess like no other.
Disclaimer: I do not own Zelda or any of the characters from the Legend of Zelda series. I only own my beautiful nerd plushie, and please don't take that away from meee!
Frozen Flame
.:Chapter 1:.
Doll of Porcelain
"Yes father."
Her words held no life. No meaning. No emotion. They were just words to her, that was all. That's all she is. A machine that spoke, moved, acted, and felt mechanically, with traces of natural grace intertwined within. It was not her place to decide whom she would love, and whom she would marry. Not that she knew what those two words meant anyway. All she knew was that she was 8 years of age, and already far too wise to be allowed any fun.
What was fun anyway?
What did that word mean? This question, she knew, was always asked, but never answered. How she longed for yesterday, where she had met a mysterious boy. But, today is not yesterday, and would never be. So she stood there with quiet eyes, and merely nodded. Her eyes were cold, empty, drained.
"Zelda, I hope you appreciate what I am doing for you."
"Yes father."
The king sitting upon the throne before her still looked young, even for his age, but his eyes held the cold wisdom of sight. Surely, he had seen much in his years, and the wisdom gained from the experiences did not affect his already cold outlook, his negative view on so many things.
"Must you be so polite?"
"Yes father."
"Can't you call me papa? Or daddy? Why must you be so formal?"
"..."
She continued to look at him through an empty expression. It was amazing, how an 8 year old can be so cold. Yet, inside, her hopes rose. Perhaps her father did care? Perhaps she didn't have to be so mechanical? Perhaps she could be... happy? Should she dare to believe that?
No. Experience had taught her better. Too many things... too many things seen, remembered within the eyes of a broken child. Once a porcelain doll now shattered upon the freezing stone ground.
Now... rearranged and fitted into the shape of a mechanical doll.
"Because you made me, father."
"I made you?"
"Yes father."
She watched as the king seemed to deliberate her answer. The throne room was beautifully decorated, the ceilings high, and the corridor narrow. Beautiful paintings, and sculptures decorated the walls, and a soft, plush, crimson carpet stretched out beneath her.
Zelda wore the normal formal dress for a princess. Her hair tied back and behind her, hidden in a white cloth, with purple decorations. Her dress was simple, with the mark of the triforce in the front. Her blue eyes were empty, glassy almost, as though she really were a doll of porcelain.
"Do you hate me, princess?" For such kind words, did they seem so meaningless when spoken out of the King's mouth.
"No father." Her response was too quick for the King, but he merely nodded, as he always did. He knew, as the many servants of the castle did, that his daughter was too alike him for both to get along comfortably. He merely sighed inwardly, the emptiness inside his burdened heart throbbing within his thin frame.
"Return to your studies, then, my daughter."
"Yes father."
Zelda turned, and walked. Her steps were mechanical, her bodyguard and ever-watchful guardian, Impa, following behind her.
For a child so young, and so small, her presence brought about a cold shudder to all nearby. She was not always like this. No. She only gave a cold outlook just before, and just after, seeing her father, or seeing her mother. Which was exactly where she was going.
The rain was not rain. The sky was clear, but cloudy. Everything was nothing to her. Her mother could not talk, she could not move. And she did not breathe. The grass was green, and the mud was not. She hated it all, but she could care less. Hate and Anger and Fear and Pain were all she could understand. And happiness. That one emotion was brought and revealed when she forgot everything else.
But one with a mind and wisdom of hers could not forget. Never, could she forget.
"Hello Mother."
There was no response. There never was, and never will be.
Impa stood, far more taller than the young girl. An umbrella was held, keeping both of them from being soaked by the bone chilling water of the heavens. Eyes that held remorse, she surveyed the area. The young child went through mood swings, which should not happen, but always did. The outside was cold. A very cold place, but the castle was cold as well. Perhaps much colder.
The central graveyard of Hyrule castle was one rarely seen by, and rarely talked about. The ancestors of the Harkinian family stretched nearly to the beginning of the worlds, and the three goddesses. The gravestones were all beautiful, but none were as beautiful as the one that stood tall before the small porcelain princess.
"Here lies Ivorie Harkinian.
A Kind Woman, A Mother, And A Queen.
Rest In Peace."
Zelda merely stood at the headstone. Reading. And Rereading. And rereading. Over and Over and Over again. She hated herself. Her mother had died, and she could not cry, because she had cried a thousand tears, and still lived.
Her mother had often visited her dreams, telling her of her love, and how she should forgive herself, and live on. But... Zelda could not. Not for all the wonderful things in the land could she bring herself to love herself, or anyone else. She would regain what she had lost by filling what she will create. She will study, and train, and live for the fulfillment of the nothing. The black that threatened to take over her soul, should she give up and surrender to her self pity and hate.
Which is why Zelda is a princess like no other.
