A thunder storm ravaged the country of Hyrule; a deluge of rain hammering down and drenching the world. The threatening rumble of the skies seemed to make the earth quiver beneath as each flash of lightening cracked down to sear the night. A frigid gale blew, tempest tossed and blown by an angry god. The cold stone within the castle served to produce no warmth against the harsh night raging outside, as the echo of thunder rolled against every wall. This was particularly true of Zelda's keep; the high tower held only the mourning Princess and a dim fire, struggling to warm the small room and provide the little light she needed to read.
Sitting close to the embers, resigned to a wooden chair, she sat, scouring a leather-bound tome for the little comfort it could afford her. Flipping through the pages of history, old legends and tales of heroes gave her the fortitude to endure her imprisonment with grace and sanity, quietly awaiting the day her hero would arrive. But as the days had rolled on, she knew that Link's timing would be closely matched to that of their rival—His presence was already thick upon the air, like a foul stench she couldn't place.
As if an outward manifestation of this realization, lightning cleaved the sky beside her window, haunting the chamber with its momentary glow. A shiver crept through her, and she sighed, closing the book and turning her crystalline gaze toward the fire.
Perhaps the Gods are angry with my decision? It flashed through her mind, though with a light shake of her head she rid herself of it. She had no choice; this sorry state of affairs was the only mercy she could give her people. She adjusted the cloak around her fragile form, slender fingers gripping the dark fabric as a somber expression took over her delicate features. Her pale lips moved, mouthing the words Zant had said to her only a week before, "Surrender or die.". Her people were unharmed, in a sense, and unaware of the coup; This was the only thing she had power over, and her brows furrowed as she remembered the day with distaste. Could she have been expected to do more? It was not her place to have stood and fought that day against an insurmountable force such as this, she was not the hero.
…But then, what was her place? …To sit and be little more than a trophy, or a trump card? Did she serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
Thunder roared from the clouds, causing her to jump, and jarring her from her reverie. "What more can I do?" She asked the still air, gazing out of the window. The Gods must've understood that she had played her part as well as she could have, was it not her place here, beside the fire, awaiting the chosen one? The storm's rage was leaving her in doubt.
She frowned, picking up the sides of her cloak to shift fluidly toward the window. Even with a few small steps, the warmth was fleeting, and the chill of the outside world seemed to seep into her skin. It prickled at her, almost burning with an unnatural sense. Whether Midna returned with the hero in time was a likelihood, but the arrival of Zant's master was upon them now. She stifled a slight gasp as it struck her—Perhaps the storm was a reflection of his growing power, and not of the Gods at all. Her heart fell with a trepidation as she stared out toward her ravaged land; Even without being here, He was threatening her, showing her a glimpse of the rage and darkness he held for them all.
Zelda stared out at the skies with a quizzical look, studying them with a new sense of personification. Drawing a slow breath, she placed a hand to the window pane, flinching slightly at the biting frostiness it held. Her face contorted into a look of understanding. Perhaps it truly was her place to be a trophy of war; The storm sent her a message of dominance and possessiveness. It had raged since her capture, and she blinked with the sudden notion that perhaps she was a more valuable asset than she gave herself credit for.
And that was when she secretly made up her mind; if this was the hand she was dealt, she would play it with everything she had. After all, were trophies not kept to be admired? The ghost of a smile lingered on her lips, as her breath fogged out before her. "You aren't scaring me just yet, Ganondorf. This has only just begun." As if to second this, she heard the scuffling of paws clicking against stone, and a light growl behind her. A giggle, haughty and cute, signaled Midna's presence as well, as thunder growled across the land, angry.
The Princess smiled to herself, and gave a pointed glance to the grey sky, before turning to face the first ray of hope to cut through the storm—The Hero had arrived.
A/N: Ok, guys. Sorry for the massive Ganondorf/Storm metaphor, I know it's a little cliché, But I really wanted to cement the prologue with a canonical event, namely, what Zelda was doing before you first saw her in TP. And, considering there was a storm then… Yeah, you get it.
I don't know how far I'm going to go with this as far as dark themes and sexual content, so I'm rating it M for safety.
I also felt like it was important that the prologue feel like a flash back, a bit, because it's only hinting at the future, (pretty vauguely) and it is based on the actual scene. So, if you felt it was a bit subjective or detached from Character, that is why.