Golden Treasures:

Book 1: A Link Broken

In Japan there is a traditional practice called kintsukuroi, by which broken ceramic vessels are repaired using a gold lacquer; instead of seeking to remove the blemishes, they are highlighted, to return the vessel to function in a way that allows the history of the damage to strengthen the vessel's beauty.

Thus, that which is broken within us can be made resplendent and whole.

Chapter 1:

A Summons Off Key

"Help me... Please, help me... I am a prisoner in the dungeon of the castle."

The youth stirred, a grimace crossing his face as he turned in his bed. It came like a raven's cry, shattering windows in his head.

"My name is Zelda."

He woke with a gasp, jolting upright, his blond hair slick to the sides of his head. The name had pierced the warm fog of sleep with the same ghostly voice it had upon a stormy night a year prior. The youth muttered the name under his breath as he rose to sitting, then stood, passing a hand through his sandy mane as he strode to his window. The barest brushes of dawn tinted the long horizon, casting soft, weary light across his torso. The light touched lines on him that he found foreign, and an ache welled in his chest. He hugged himself, trying to despell the pain, but it gnawed him still, till he flopped wearily back on his mattress.

One year ago, that voice had shattered his slumber. All the nights since that desperate time, it had stolen him from sleep just the same.

The sun slowly rose over Hyrule, casting the long shadow of the Eastern Palace across the land. Slowly, fingers of light gently caressed the lines of Din's earth, the life-giving rays stroking each feature, from the tallest peaks of Death Mountain down to the shimmering waters of Lake Hylia, flitting across every building until the stained glass of the Royal Sanctuary sprayed colors across the pews and the white marble of Hyrule Castle practically gleamed.

The rays settled on a windowsill, creeping in and across the floorboards. They stretched up onto the bed, warming sheets, skin, and a splash of hair the color of a wheat field. The boy tried to hide, but before he could turn the sun kissed his eyelids, gently tugging him out of the warm embrace of slumber as he opened two deep sapphire eyes.

The covers fell from his body as he sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. Everything ached in a way it had not before his adventure. It was late into the winter, when the awakening of spring had already begun to stir; a year and change since he had completed his heroic journey to save the Kingdom of Hyrule.

Link saw the sunlight splash across his torso, lighting a tapestry that was as alien in look as it was in feel. Yes, there was his fitness, which had never been better. He'd never been a particularly imposing boy and he still wasn't, at least without his shield, sword, and mail, but his adventure had certainly filled him out. His lean frame was taut with dense muscle.

Then there were the scars. Cuts, stabs, bites, burns of all sorts. At first, they seemed almost cosmetic, like jewelry and tattoos, but as his journey ground on and on, the trials growing more and more dangerous, they became like some sort of rot in his eyes. His wounds had consumed him, warping and wracking him until nothing felt right anymore. Even his face had been mared somewhat. A line upon his left cheek, a small burn under his jaw, and another gash across his brow to his right cheekbone, but otherwise intact.

But not all of the harm Link had been dealt was physical. He'd spent the entire year recovering, for the ordeal seemed to have steeped his heart in weariness. Before, he'd worked with his uncle as a hunter, bagging game to sell in town and at the castle. When he'd finally come home to his uncle, who had been resurrected by the magic of the Triforce, he spent weeks indoors, sleeping, eating, reading, and playing music. As his strength returned, he would run errands and do odd jobs in Kakariko village, and hike across the length and breadth of Hyrule. Uncle Alfon's days as a hunter were also done, as Link's fame drew people from across the land to train under the man who'd trained the hero of the kingdom; at first they came to Link, but he had always firmly refused. Alfon, who had learned from his own father, was overjoyed at the development, and his school of fencing, wrestling, boxing, and archery had flourished in the year since, with the boy attending classes semi-regularly. Link's uncle now lived in an apartment above the school he'd built in town, leaving the old family home to his nephew.

Leaving his bed clad in his pajama bottoms, he stared out the window for a moment more, smiling witsfully. Depressed, slightly. Self-conscious and sore, yes. But there was plenty he had to be thankful for; that fact had never escaped him. He washed and dressed, donning a pair of tan cloth pants and a warm, long-sleeved green shirt, leather boots and his uncle's old sword. After a glass of milk and some toast and jam, he set out. His hair had grown long on the road, and when Link regained access to regular bathing, he found he prefered it that way. That he used his bangs to help hide his scars, nobody had yet seemed to notice; the rest was tied behind his head in a single tail that hung between his shoulder blades.

"Hello, Link!" called the mailman, who was a short way down the road. The hero waved back as he opened his mailbox, finding a letter within. A year ago, he would have been totally swamped in mail; letters and gifts of thanks from across the kingdom. Eventually it died off, but the odd letter or parcel still showed up at his door from time to time. Link wasn't sure what to make of it; he'd amassed a moderate fortune between the gifts and his adventures, and wouldn't need to work another day in his life.

Link frowned hard. There on the parcel in his hands, in red wax, was the crest of the royal family, the heavenly bird bearing the three golden triangles. Link had not heard from his liege since the end of his quest. Tearing the envelope, Link read.

"To Link, of the Castle Woods.

You are summoned by her majesty Zelda, Princess and ruler of Hyrule. On receiving this letter, appear before the throne at once."

It was brutally curt. Link mused that if the letter was written by the princess, then he'd misjudged her esteem of him. No matter. She could wait till he was finished in town for the day, if she hadn't the time for simple manners. A popular country sentiment, and with it in mind Link drew his cloak about him and set out for town. He needed groceries and toiletries, sundries and hardware. Cheese, potatoes, soap, nuts, nails. And he would get lunch at the tavern. Malna and Talna's hot mulled wine had practically carried him through the cold seasons, and he'd taste the seasonal treat again before spring set in fully.

The road was quiet this time of year. Birds and beasts were all still sluggish, but at the end of the path, a gaggle of the village children played. "Link!" they howled when they saw the boy hero, charging him as one brigade. With a laugh, Link waded into them, keeping his base solid as he tossed the boys harmlessly into the snow. One by one they flew, and Link continued on into town as they picked themselves up out of the powder. Tala, their girl minder, shrugged sheepishly. She was a handful of years younger than Link, a timid, mousy girl, often run ragged by her younger charges. Link shook his head, smiling warm apologies as she brushed them clean of slush and stick.

Once he made town, it was a string of hellos and good mornings. The baker, the butcher, the fisher and the fowler, farmer and shephard and seamstress. He got cheese and potatoes, soap, nuts and nails, as well as a smorgasbord of gossip and rumor. "The Princess is reforming the army," said the blacksmith. "New command structure, new division of duty. Everything. I guess the castle folk don't like what happened to all the soldiers during the coup."

"Here, Link," called old lady Julma. "Come here where I can see you proper. Ah, there we are. Come child, I need your hair for a moment." Link flushed, sitting for the old hairdresser as she tried her new craft. When the new braid failed, the woman scowled, and quickly did a conventional one. "Run along, princeling hero. And take care that no aging queen comes for your scalp."

"Have you seen the envoys of the desert tribes? The dark-skinned folk from the deep desert sands? Rolun says that Golun tried to sweettalk one of those desert women, and she floored him with an open hand, in one blow!"

It was a long and fulfilling morning before Link finally pulled into Malna and Talna's tavern, taking a moment to relish the difference in temperature between the chill beyond and standing at the coatrack. Once he was seated by the hearth, the winter's bite was all but forgotten. Then came Malna, an energetic, flirtatious young woman a few years Link's senior, red of hair and full of figure. "Link," she chimed. "What'll it be, handsome?"

"Am I too late for a full Hylian breakfast?" Link asked, blushing lightly, and Malna smiled.

"For you, I think we'll make whatever we're asked for," she said through a saucy grin. "And a cup of mulled wine, right? Sit tight hero."

Link sat with the hearth, tugging absently at Julma's braid. Malna came with the wine, and Link let the warmth of the drink chase away the ghosts of cold haunting his bones. Then his food came; bacon, sausages, ham, toast and jam, black and red pudding, grilled halved tomatoes, onions, and wide mushroom caps, eggs sunnyside up, baked beans, and hash browns. Link tucked in, savoring every bite of the varied plate. In a lesser land it would be a kingly meal, but the rich soils of Hyrule had yielded agriculture without peer for time immemorial; a blessing of plenty from the three golden goddesses. Foodstuffs were the kingdom's chief export, next to forged goods.

"What's running around that head?" Malna, suddenly swinging by and planting her palms on the table across from Link, asked in a low voice.

He had a meeting with an old friend that was long overdue.

Those same fingers of light that caressed Link to wakefulness stretched across the woods and waters, seeping into the great palace of Hyrule Castle. There in the royal quarters, they found soft silk and smooth skin. Eventually the tattoo the rays beat upon closed eyelids bid them open, so that ice-blue eyes gazed upon the world.

Zelda sat up, brushing her long, honey blonde hair from her face. It spilled about her shoulders and down the length of her silk negligee. She knew in the back of her sleep-addled mind that her aide would soon be around to wake her. Normally, she loathed how she would awaken just before she was due to be roused, but this time her visions had given the morning a new flavor. Today, she would see him again. Him. Link. Her savior, rescuer, protector. This past year had been full of civil toil and political fallouts. The princess had little room in her life for personal whims, but there was one she had nursed throughout the year. The magical Triforce that fueled her visions had never lied; the princess and the hero were destined for each other. Her personal interest lay in defending that destined future, even though she couldn't see how it would develop. Not fully. Her visions did not come freely.

Zelda hugged her legs harder, her toes curling as she recalled the visions, butterflies fluttering within her core. In the dreams, his strength supported her, his vigilant blue eyes fixing her's motionless as he poured his silent, tender intensity through her lips. She craved him, in a way she couldn't have concieved when she felt the first faint slivers of his existence; she had been just a little girl when she'd first viewed of the skeins of his mind.

It had frightened her at first. Link was a rough forest boy, a woodsman raised by another woodsman; wild, uncultured, and unihibited. By the time she had finally revealed herself to him, pleading for his aid, her connection to him was irreplaceable. His being was unlike any she had felt in her lifetime; honest, humble, and pure, so unlike the guarded and pretentious minds of the royal courts and diplomats. She would reach for his presence when she was stressed, and secretly wondered if he felt her mind's touch at all, let alone as the loving, longing caress she intended it to be.

Her door cracked open. "Your highness? It is time to awaken," called Impei, her new but ever-faithful man-servant.

"I'm up," she called back. "Bathing. I'll be out in a moment."

Zelda languished for a moment more, her eyes bleary as they studied the lay of the fabric of her pillow. Then she drew her lithe frame from the sheets and stood and made for her bath, the sole indulgence of her morning routine. There she watched the bubbles pop for a short while. She hurried from tub to towel, her teeth chattering till she dried herself. 30 minutes from her wakeup call, the Princess of Hyrule emerged, resplendent in the white and gold of the sacred royal gown.

There stood Impei. He was a fierce figure, dressed in the dark cloth and grey steel of his secretive people. He wore greaves about his legs and gauntlets upon his arms, which were otherwise bare to the shoulder; how he could ignore the cold, Zelda could never figure, as he only added layers in the deepest stretch of winter and on trips to the most inhospitable snowy climes. A gracefully curved shortsword hung at the small of his back, and a red scarf was coiled round his neck. Zelda had learned in the past months that the scarf, woven of a slash-resistant fiber, could be nearly as dangerous as the blade, and that Impei carried many minor weapons hidden about his person. He dropped to a knee at the sight of his charge, till she bid him to rise.

"I believe we've discussed many times that the kneeling is a little excessive," the princess said half as a jest. If the humor reached Impei, it didn't show.

"I am bound to your will by the traditions of my people," the shadowy warrior responded. "We still held to our ancient oaths, even after your ancestors cast us out for our... Failures. We waited, preparing for the day you would find need of our debt again."

The princess stifled a titter. "So you've told me", she responded, amused by Impei's somber candor. "And I've told you just as many times. For a citizen of Hyrule to bow to the throne implies that citizen lives for the royal family, rather than the other way around. It's a form of political protest, a display of no confidence; I didn't know you had such distain for me, Impei."

This elicited a small smirk from the bodyguard. "Where I was raised, to slight the honor of your master is punished with pain, and that's if you are lucky and your insult is minor. But it is good that I am no Hylian. As a Sheikah I can serve your will, if your subjects will not."

Zelda made an amused sigh. "Ah, but it's not about will. The Royal Family's way is to rule out of love, and with the grace of the godesses. The Hyrulean Civil War was the last time..." Zelda's speech cut short for a pause. "...Well, it was supposed to be the last time Hylian steel drew Hylian blood. The last time Hylians were ruled over without their blessing. This splendor is a lifestyle granted willingly by the nobility and localities as payment for fair, competent rule."

"Then you are indeed their ruler."

Zelda nodded once. "For as long as my people and court have faith in my leadership. You and I spared no effort in securing that, have we not? In the months since my father abdicated the throne?"

The late king's health was troubled even before Aghanim had appeared to end Hyrule's woes. The king defeating his sickness had been one of the miracles the wicked warlock had woven as he plotted his coup. Even though the magic of the Golden Power had returned him to life, that life was already stretched thin; he had no vigor left, at least not enough to guide Hyrule through the fallout of the coup. When he finally passed, the nobility immediately called young Zelda's maturity into question. The kingdom was in disarray; the morale of the castle guard had been completely extinguished, monsters mundane roamed free, and the talk from the mountain folk was that new terrors held roost in the deep hollows beneath the earthen bones of Death Mountain and it's range. So in some respects it was understandable, but in no way was it tolerable.

Before the crisis, Zelda had been a girl; a highly educated and precociously intelligent child with savantlike mystical abilities, but a girl in mentality. A year in the captivity of Aganim and his puppetmaster had tempered childish precociousness into a focused and formidable intellect, insightful, perceptive, intuitive and wise.

They had called her a girl; laughed in her face when she appealed the nobility's judgement of her character. In response, she had wielded the history and attributes of her lineage, sought out the fabled Sheikah, found Impei, and together they mustered what few men of the guard who still had fight left in them to clear the lands of Hyrule of the teaming masses of monsters, forcing the Blinish tribes back into their cave homes in the foothills of Hyrule's mountainous borders. They doubted her, and she forced them to accede to her competence by quashing their fears in a single stroke, returning with her womanhood undisputed and as a warrior princess to boot.

But now there was yet more work to be done. The grim news from the northern mountains could not be ignored, but to venture so deep into those lands and assess the situation was dangerous travel. And those few who could be trusted where far too few and of ill experience for such a sojourn. So the princess had sent word to her most trusted and skillful vassal. And as one veteran guardsmen in armor of plain Hylian steel entered to announce, he had finally arrived.