A/N: This is the prequel of The Dark Triforce, a LoZ story involving Link, Zelda, and the rest. This, however, goes into Zelda's parents and attempts to add backstory to a made-up plot. It will be long, which might be difficult for people looking for the original characters. But it's a prequel, so not much else can be expected. Enjoy!

THE COVER: None of the artwork is mine; I just edited and put it together. Some credits (just take out the asterisks):

1. The font was taken from cool*text.*com, where you can design lots of fun logos and titles. This was called "Slab," chosen for its kinda fantasy-like appearance.

2. The Triforce: Found on Google, so long ago that I actually can't find it again. I'm so sorry to whoever originally created this, and if they happen to stumble upon this little fic of mine, please let me know and I'll credit you!

3. Skeleton: Also Googled. Had more luck rediscovering this one, though; there are a lot of versions, but the one I used was this: http*:/*/w*ww*.nastol.*com.*ua/download/2058/1024x1024/

4. Ganondorf: Taken with permission from the extremely talented warningyou. It can be found here: http*:/*/warningyou*.deviantart.*com/art/Ganondorf-368800493

5. Nabooru: Lent by the equally-gifted Wictorian-Art, found here: http*:/*/wictorian-art*.deviantart.*com/art/Nabooru-of-the-desert-121929172

6. Impa: While there are lots of wonderful illustrations of young Impa, I couldn't find one that seemed quite right, so I made one here: http*:/www*.dolldivine.*com/rpg-heroine-creator*.php

7. Zelda and Daphnes: Both made on THIS doll maker: http*:/*/*azaleasdolls.*com/fairytale.*html

Thank you to everyone, and I hope you all check out their amazing work!

CHAPTER 1

"Demi!" Dimitri straightened, looking around for the voice. "Demi!" A three-year-old waddled out of a nearby hut. She hugged him around the knees. "Where ya goin'?" she asked, looking up at him with her blue eyes filled with adoration.

Dimitri laughed and placed her on his shoulders. "To school."

She stared down at him, pulling at his hair. "Why?"

"Because I have to, that's why."

"Oh." She looked down at him, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in a thoughtful expression that was far too old for her face. "Do ya have to go really soon?"

He shrugged, rocking back on his heels and making her squeal with a combination of delight and terror. "Not really," he said, grinning up at her.

She smiled, her pudgy cheeks dimpling. "Can we go in the water?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he tossed his head like a horse's and charged into the ocean. Waves crashed over them, and he threw her into the air, catching her again a second later. "Go horsy!" she cried, kicking the sides of his neck and giggling.

"Emilia!" The voice cut through the air, making them both flinch. A young woman with hair tied in a tight bun ran down to them, stopping at the water. "Demi, give her to me."

He handed Emilia to her. "Jeez, Zel," he said, giving her a wounded look so exaggerated that Emilia burst into hysterical laughter, squirming in the woman's arms.

Unamused, she stared at him, her eyes blue and green and irritated. "You could have gotten her killed," she said, her words clipped. "And aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"Aren't you?"

She looked down. "Can't. I have to work."

"Don't you ever take a break?"

"Who has time for breaks?" She looked puzzled, as if the issue had really never occurred to her before. "Everyone must work."

Demi shrugged. "Well, sure, but look at me, Zelda. I take breaks. I have fun."

"You do." The but you are a lazy bum and are destined for the poorhouse was implied. "But not all of us have the luxury."

He kicked at the water, splashing up droplets that glittered in the sun. They were beautiful, but Zelda didn't see them. Her gaze cut through the drops without taking them in, her brows furrowed into lines far too deep for someone so young. "Hey, Zel? Why don't you come out with me tonight? You're not working after ten, are you?"

She opened her mouth to argue, then saw something like sincerity on Demi's face and merely shook her head. He grinned and continued, "Then come out around eleven. Meet me right here." He waited a minute for her to complain, roll her eyes, say anything, but she didn't. After a moment he said, "Fun isn't a luxury, Zel. It's a right and a responsibility." He leaned in and put his forehead against hers, noticing but ignoring Emilia's giggle. "Besides, too much worry will wrinkle that pretty little forehead of yours and turn your hair all gray. And what kind of girl wants that?"

With a gasp of disgust and horror, she shoved him away. "Of all the —" She was sputtering, her face bright red. Still, he'd seen the corners of her mouth twitch. He had.

So he knew she'd be there. She'd be short-tempered and huffy, but he could handle that.

He'd had years of experience.

Zelda looked up at the sky, her eyes wide and sparkling. "It's so beautiful," she breathed, digging her toes into the soft white sand.

Demi smirked at her. "Is this enjoyment that I'm seeing, Zel? Are you having fun?"

She looked at him, surprised and a little scandalized. "I can have fun," she said, fiddling with her hair. "Just never with you."

"Pull that bun out," he said. "I think it's cutting off the circulation to your brain. It's a tragic thing, really. Kills your 'fun gland'. I think it's reversible, though. If you'd just —" He reached over and grabbed her hair, trying to remove the band of leather keeping her hair in place.

She twisted away from him with a shriek that almost — almost — turned into a laugh. Her fingers danced in elegant spirals around her bun, releasing the silvery-blonde hair in a curtain that hung around her face and draped over her shoulders. It made her look years younger. "There. Does this satisfy you?"

"It does," he said cheerfully, and continued walking along the waterline. After a few moments of deliberation, she followed, keeping her gaze divided between the water and the sky and far from his own. He waited for her to say something, but she seemed happy with the silence, so he spoke. "You're looking around like you haven't lived here your whole life."

"It feels like I haven't," she said. "Everything's so wonderful and new. I . . . I guess I never looked at it before. The water, though . . . do you see the sparkles? And the sky! So many stars!" She craned her head back, looking up with childlike wonder.

"This is what the real world looks like, Zelda. You'd appreciate it a lot more if you didn't wander around with your panties in a wad all the time."

She froze, the look of awe wiped off her face as though with a rag. Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she glared at him for a moment in speechless horror. Then she turned around, her wave of hair hitting him in the face, and stormed up the beach.

He hurried after her, kicking up sand and water. "Zel? Zel! Come back! I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!" He grabbed her arm and turned her around. She glowered down at their feet, her breasts heaving with indignation and fury. He held her shoulders and spoke in a low, fast rush. "Listen, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I . . . I don't talk to many girls, so I forget that you can't say certain things to girls that you can say to guys. I'm sorry." This last sounded so plaintive, like a little boy who knows he's done something wrong but doesn't know how to fix it; he only knows that saying "I'm sorry" is supposed to make things right somehow.

She looked up at him, the anger fading from her eyes. "You talk about your male friends' panties?" she asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Well, no. Not really. But guys talk about different stuff than girls do. You know?"

"Of course I do." Zelda held her head high and fixed her gaze once more on the water. "Girls talk about . . . about more civilized things."

He sidestepped so that he was closer to her. "What do you and your friends talk about?"

Once again he saw a hint of pink spread across her face and neck. "A lot!"

His hand slipped into hers as he stopped walking. She slowed, too, her hand limp and cold in his. "Zel, I know you don't have any friends."

Like lightning, she snatched her hand away from him. "Of course I do!" she snarled. "And we talk all the time! About arts. And . . . and literature."

"I don't think conversations with Emilia about 'Binky the Big Goron' count here."

"I have friends!"

"Name some." His voice was soft but insistent, and she looked away.

"T-there's . . . Ravena, and . . ."

Dimitri stopped walking, their conversation forgotten. "What's that?"

She whirled around and scrambled to his side. "What's what?" she asked with a far-from-subtle sigh of relief.

"That." It was lying about thirty yards away, a shiny spot nestled in a crater of dry sand, like someone had dropped it there. He jogged up to it and knelt down, his fingers almost brushing its glossy surface. From here, the moonlight didn't reflect off of it and turn it silver, and he could see that it was actually black. It was cut into a perfect triangle.

Zelda stood over him, craning her neck to see it. "It would make a nice paperweight, I suppose." She looked out at the water, which was lapping at their toes and turning hers numb. "It must have washed in from the ocean."

"No, that doesn't make sense. We're at high tide right now, and this is still in the dry sand." He looked up at the sky. "Could it have fallen? That's a pretty deep hole it made. . . ."

Zelda shrugged, shivering. "When did it get cold?"

Dimitri plopped onto the sand, sitting cross-legged, and patted the ground next to him. "Plenty of sand for everyone, Zel." He leaned over it, shifting his upper body from side to side and watching the moonlight slide across its surface. "I guess it's kind of pretty."

"Kind of." She sat down next to him, tucking her skirt over her knees and under her thighs. "It looks cold, though. Is it?" Her hand reached out to touch it, then pulled back. "Oh!" She grabbed his arm; her palm was as cold as the water on their feet. "It's freezing!"

"Really?" He held his hand above it. "What are you talking about? It's radiating warmth."

She looked at him with huge blue eyes. "But I couldn't even touch it, it was so cold. How . . . ?"

He pressed his palm against the triangle. "It's warm," he said. "Not quite hot, but warm." He picked it up and held it in both hands. "Heavy, too."

"I don't understand." Zelda tried once again to touch it, but shook her head and pulled back. "No, this is . . . weird. I don't like it. It's still far too cold for me."

Dimitri tossed it from one hand to the other. "Well I like it," he said. "I think it's cool." He held it up to the light, appraising it. "And it would make a nice paperweight."

Zelda grabbed his arm, afraid and not sure why. "No, Demi, please don't. I'll buy you a better paperweight, I promise. Prettier . . . or cooler, or something. But just throw that thing into the ocean. It doesn't make sense."

"You have to have everything make sense, Zel?" he said, and turned to smile at her. She thought it was supposed to be friendly, or teasing, or something, but it just came across as menacing. "Consider this as something to challenge that huge brain of yours: How can something reach the beach without coming from the ocean, and how can it be both ice-cold and warm as a wool sweater?" He laughed, sounding a little strange. "It's like an ancient joke. Riddle me this, Zelda."

"I don't care what the answer is," she said, backing away. "I just want that thing away from me."

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, Zel." He slipped it into his pocket. "It's like it was never there." But she could see the outline of it poking against the fabric of his shorts, and didn't like the way he was still smiling at her, like this was one big hilarious joke at her expense. He held out his hand to her. "Would you like to keep walking?"

Part of her did. Part of her really liked Dimitri, and thought that he was the only human contact she was likely to have above the age of four and below the age of forty. That part of her kept noticing that his arms were tanned and somewhat muscled, and wondered what kind of physical labor he did, and how she'd never seen him at it; she worked everywhere, and had seen all the other people their age at their daily jobs. That part of her also liked the funny way his black hair curled down over his forehead, and around his ears, and . . . well, it curled in every direction. It was cute, a hint of childish innocence that appealed to her the way the splash of cinnamon-colored freckles across his nose and cheeks appealed to her. It made him look young and unworried, the exact opposite of herself. There was something she liked about that. Besides, she had the sneaking suspicion that he wanted to kiss her — had for a while, actually. And now that she knew he wasn't just some good-for-nothing jerk, or a bum . . . maybe she wouldn't mind that.

But as she looked down at his hand, the part of her that wasn't admiring how strong and solid it looked knew that it would be warm. Far warmer than it should be. And she knew that she would feel that warmth pressing against her own skin, like it was trying to burrow into her, and if they went walking down the street, her thigh might brush against his, and she would feel the strange dark triangle against her, and that would be too much to stand. It would make her scream, she knew it.

Also, she didn't like the turn he was taking. There was something about his attitude that scared her. She supposed it could have always been there, and only came out of its dormancy because he wasn't getting his way, but she didn't believe that. She thought it had something to do with that weird triangle, that relic cast from the ocean or sky, and until it was gone, she didn't want any part of this new Dimitri. So she stepped back, mumbled, "No, thank you, I have to get to bed," and hurried back up the beach, kicking up sand the entire way.

Dimitri knocked on the door to the small hut the next afternoon. "Zelda?" he called. There was no answer. "Zel?" He opened the door.

It was empty.

"Dimitri? What are you doing here?" He turned around to see Zelda's mother in the doorway, holding a basket of fruit. She looked at him, confused.

"I'm looking for Zelda."

She cocked her head to the side. "Oh, you just missed her. She didn't say where she was going, but I'm sure she hasn't gone far. I'd check around her usual places — she's probably working, of course." Her eyes grew distant and a little misty. "Such a hard-working girl," she murmured. "I don't know what we'd do with her."

"That's . . . that's wonderful," he said. He looked down at the floor, where there was a lone sock lying on the wood. "Did she . . . pack?"

"Oh, yes. She said she'd be working overnight somewhere, and packed up a bag to take with her. It was a lot for just one night; I think she's working on something down by the beach, or possibly inland, near the swamps, and didn't want to sleep in messy clothing. She's so clever that way."

"Yes. Of course she is." Unwilling to waste his entire day listening to a prematurely senile woman prattle on about the praises of Zelda, and feeling the growing concern that the woman was very mistaken about Zelda's whereabouts and intentions, he thanked her and hurried out the door as fast as politeness would allow.

Zelda peered around the corner of her house and watched Dimitri enter. Praying to Din that he didn't see her, she ran to his hut on top of the hill. The folded paper was clutched in her hand, covered in sweaty fingerprints, and when she reached his front door, she unfolded it and re-read what she had written:

Demi —

I'm gone by now. You probably know that already, but if you don't, you deserve to know. My family doesn't, and I beg you not to tell them. They'll find out soon enough, and I don't want you to be the one who has to bear the bad news. Please help them if you can, but I know that you have your grandfather to worry about. My affairs are as settled as they can be, and I left what I could to them.

I have to leave. I'm afraid, and I don't want to be on the same island with that thing. I know you don't understand, and that this seems like some silly whim to you, but it's real to me. I'm scared, Demi, and it's just getting worse with every second I stay here. Please try to understand, and if you can, try to forgive me.

— Zelda

She considered writing some sort of post-script, something to tell him that he meant more to her than anyone who wasn't her family - not just because he was the only person outside of her family to talk to her, but because he seemed to care about her happiness. Or had, for an hour or two.

Zelda looked down at the last paragraph — I'm scared, Demi — and ripped it off the paper, folding it up and slipping it into her apron pocket. That was stupid, and weak, and there was absolutely no point in keeping it. He wouldn't care, anyway. He was changing, and she had the feeling that he would care about less and less as the days went by.

She slipped the torn note between the door and its frame and turned toward the docks. If she could get out before he found the note, she would be free.

She's gone.

She's left for good.

What do I do now?

Dimitri ignored these thoughts for the most part. They wouldn't do him any good, and they came from a dark corner of his mind. If he poked around those thoughts for too long, frightening things might crawl up out of the darkness. Things like maybe Zelda had a reason for leaving, and maybe the reason was a good one.

And that maybe that reason had something to do with the increasingly warm, metallic triangle that he had in his pocket.

There were other, more frivolous things hidden in that corner, though. Things about her hair, silvery and shiny and somehow the exact same color in both sunshine and moonlight. Her smile, rare and reluctant, yet bright and sunny despite her best attempts to keep it down. Her eyes, her breasts, her personality, which had just seemed to be appearing from under an iron shell of workaholism. He'd started to like them all about a year ago, when she had begun taking care of Emilia, who had very recently graduated from his swim class. Now . . . they were part of his routine, and it would be strange without them.

He reached the docks, which were never very lively (there was little their small town had to offer beyond seafood and swamp) but today were dead. Zelda was easy to spot, even with the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head; she was the only person out there. Later, the docks would be swarming with fishermen home from the ocean, trying to get everything packaged away for market, and earlier there would have been the men trying to sell there wares. Had Zelda tried to leave then, he would never have been able to find her. Now, however, there was only one lonely fisherman waiting, trying to find someone to sell his last few fish to.

She was standing near one of the few boats waiting to depart. Mian Islands to Hyrule, the poorly-carved wooden sign said. No one waited to get on with her. The boat was almost empty, too; Piquo, their home island, must have been the very first stop.

"Zelda!"

She turned, and he thought he saw her cringe. She muttered something to the captain, who held up one hand and then went onto the ship. She ushered him over. "Demi, I have five minutes. What is it?"

"Why are you going?"

"I just have to," she said, glancing down at his pocket. The triangle had gotten even warmer now, almost unpleasantly so. "I can't stay here forever."

"Why not? What else do you have to do?" When she didn't answer, he took her by the upper arm. "Listen, Zelda, your family needs you. Your mom said, 'I don't know what we'd do without her.' Do you have any idea how selfish your being, leaving your poor mother to work on her own?"

She pulled away from him. "Don't you dare try to guilt me into this! You're the one who's chasing me off this island!"

He froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she snarled. She reached into her apron and pulled out a ripped piece of paper. "There's something wrong with that" — she pointed to his pocket, where the outline of the object was visible — "and there's something wrong with you. Fuck you, Demi. I'm leaving." She shoved the piece of paper into his hand and ran for the boat.

Dimitri wandered back down the beach. It was late. Midnight? Maybe later? It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon, so why not wander and enjoy the night?

He didn't understand what Zelda's problem was. She was being ridiculous, acting all scared of nothing. Hell, she was being insane. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the object. It was warm, and seemed to vibrate whenever he spoke. "You're nothing to be scared of," he said, and it thrummed. "Just a pretty little paperweight, right?" He held it and angled it to the moonlight so that he could see his reflection. "There I am," he said with a smile. "Nothing to be be scared of, either."

His reflection smiled back at him, then swam and distorted. He watched, fascinated, as it blurred. His hair turned from black to brown, and his eyes flashed a muddy red. Though Dimitri's smile had faded, the reflection beamed brighter, its lips pulling back to reveal yellowed fangs. They dripped with something that looked black in the waning moonlight. At the same time the triangle grew unbearably hot. He yelped and dropped it, where it glittered in the sand, looking helpless and shiny.

He sat down in front of it, reached out to pick it up, and then pulled away. "What is it about you?" he asked. "What are you?"

Well, his mind — at least, he assumed it was his mind — said, you'll never know unless you touch it, right?

Dimitri picked it up. It had gone back to its normal temperature, and was comforting against the ocean spray and the cold sand. And, when he turned it to face the light, his reflection had returned to normal, too. "What . . . what do you want?" He felt stupid asking it, considering that he was supposed to be a mature, sane young adult, but it was hard the shake the feeling that the triangle was sentient. "Vibrate once for yes, twice for no?"

"I can do better than that."

Dimitri looked around. That had definitely been an audible voice, but there was nothing there. The triangle suddenly thrummed, shaking in his hands hard enough that he almost dropped it. Clutching it with fingers that were beginning to shake, he stared down at it with wide eyes. "Uh . . . triangle?" he said, feeling more unsure by the minute. Why hadn't he just thrown it into the ocean in the first place?

"I can help you."

It began to get warmer, to the point where it almost hurt, but instead of letting go, he held on tighter, grimacing as his skin slowly began to blister.

"I can save you."

The heat suddenly became searing, to the point where Dimitri expected it to burst into flame. He moaned, bending over double and clutching the relic to his chest.

"I can make you more than you could ever imagine."

"What are you?" he gasped around a tongue that felt like it was on fire.

"I am the Dark Triforce. That is all you need to know."

"Demi! DEMI!"

Hands grabbed his shoulders and tightened into little claws, the fingernails digging into his flesh. He turned around and face his assailant. His eyes locked on hers, and his face relaxed. It wasn't relaxed like he'd felt relief from the burning; it was like he had somehow been drugged.

"Emilia?" His face smiled, and it looked perfectly natural — at least around the mouth. If she'd followed the smile up to his eyes and seen that they were cold and dead, she probably would have started screaming. However, her three-year-old mind saw a smiley mouth and a familiar face and didn't bother to look deeper, and so she beamed. His arms picked her up and set her on his hip, bouncing her up and down once or twice. "What are you still doing up? You should be sleeping."

"Sleepin'," she giggled. "I wanna be 'wake."

His body set her on the ground. "You need to get to bed, Emilia. It's late, and I don't really have time to play with you."

Her eyes widened and misted. "But . . . I wanna."

I wanna. Probably the two most annoying words in any language. Dimitri's mouth smiled, though, and said, "Sure, Emilia. Why not go swimming?"

"Will you come?" She hugged his neck, her body warm and wiggly and sandy. His eyebrows furrowed into a grimace for a second. Still his mouth said, "Of course, Emilia. I was counting on it."

By the time Dimitri became aware of what he was doing, Emilia's body was cold and still, sand caked to her wet body and stuck in her unseeing eyes and gaping mouth, and there was a black triangle etched into his hand.

A/N: I decided to cut the first chapter into two, because I beefed it up a lot and almost doubled the original in length. I hope that's not too much of a problem for anyone who has already read the beginning or the entire thing.