This was horrendous to write - fun, but horrendous. Pronouns are hell and it took two and a half hours of sitting in front of a screen...
I'm hoping this isn't transphobic or anything...
She – or he? A he, Zelda was in disguise now, she had been for years.
He lay on his bed, bare-chested in the heat, staring up at the ceiling. Hyrule was under Ganondorf's reign now, he had – she had? She had told her father that the man was not to be trusted, but to no avail. And then that forest child appeared, and he was her last hope – but her decision for her to give him the ocarina was a mistake. Or was it? If she had kept it the door may never have been opened, Ganondorf would never had gotten his hands on the Triforce, but what of the flow of time? She would have disrupted it. The prophecy – her dreams – would never have come true.
Prophecies. Would the events they caused have happened even if the prophecies that foretold them didn't exist? Or were the prophecies themselves the cause of those happenings? It was all so confusing, but he had to focus on them, had to memorise them.
He shifted his weight, and the mattress creaked. There was no blanket, it was much warmer here in the south, where they had fled after the castle had been taken. The people here would not recognise her, at least, blond hair and blue eyes and a confident way of walking could be found on more than one girl, but if Ganondorf himself came looking, or one of his higher-ranking minions, she wouldn't stand a chance. Besides, they knew he could sense her, through the Triforce or some other enchantment they didn't know,
So here she was, as a he, in the wrong body, with red eyes and narrow hips and darkened skin.
It was strange, having this body, a boy's body. Sometimes, when the other kids invited him swimming, he forgot that he didn't really need to have a shirt on – boys could go shirtless. Being addressed as 'he', 'mister', 'boy' was disconcerting – having a stranger call out 'Shadow Folk!' was even more disturbing. Was she – he one of them, truly? Perhaps, somewhere along the line, the Royal Family and the Sheikah may have crossed over. It wouldn't surprise him, they were so close. He did know the legends now, thanks to Impa, and much of their lore and skills, but this, his appearance, the mindset he had to adopt of not being herself was completely and utterly wrong.
He sat up, blond hair falling around his face. It fell to his waist, he refused to cut it. He raised an arm, staring at the bronze skin, the slender muscles beneath and the veins that coiled around it. If he changed back – he wouldn't dare, not without Impa, Ganondorf would sense her immediately – she could have a chance to be herself, to wander around town as Princess Zelda – maybe not as Princess. The life he had, just a plain boy from town, was rather nice, no expectations, no responsibilities, the fate of the world didn't have to rest on his shoulders – not yet. To just be a girl, to walk the streets with the few friends she had made, was a dream to her. For now, he must remain as this, as Sheik, the boy from the north who bested even the greatest of their fighters.
"Zelda!"
The door whipped open, crashing against the opposite wall, and he brought his hands up to his chest before he remembered – you've been a boy for four years now – and turned to face Impa.
"Sheik," she corrected herself, her hands uncurling from fists. Large, dangerous fists. "You didn't tell me you would be up here."
"I was under the impression you only needed to know of my whereabouts if I left the house," he responded. He – she – didn't normally talk like that, but it was fun to practise. His voice, while somewhat deep, still had a slight Zelda-ish sound to it.
Impa raised her eyebrows. "I see you're eager to be queen."
"I have years before I can take the throne." Sheik slid off his bed and his bare feet hit the floorboards. "Three more years until he awakens."
"Enough of that." Impa stepped to the side to allow him out the doorway. "How long have you been like that? Six months?"
"How else am I to become used to this disguise?" Sheik glided down the stairs, partially the result of dancing classes when she was younger and the gymnastics and fighting lessons she took in secret.
"How else are you going to get used to your own body?" Impa's steps on the wooden stairs were silent, Sheik had to stop himself from checking to see if she was still there. "I'll cast this house under shadow and you can transform back, if you want."
Sheik knew he didn't have a choice. Impa's red eyes could sharpen into a glare at any moment, and he – Zelda? was not the only one with magic.
"If you wish," he said, eyeing the mirror of the opposite side of the room. It leaned against the wall, sandwiched between Impa's massive sword and a large shelf containing various knives and other things. A book sat precariously on the edge. Next to the self was a large wooden chest, locked, lined with enchanted steel. Inside lay Zelda's clothes, the dress she wore the day she escaped, and the one she would wear once she was grown and on the throne.
The mirror itself was plain, just a piece of silvered glass with no frame. Inside he could see his reflection, a Sheikah boy with long blond hair and piercing red eyes lined by long eyelashes, somewhat narrow shoulders – not that narrow, Zelda was as tomboy in looks as she was tomboy in mind. Slender muscles ran the lengths of his limbs.
His hips though, were not as narrow as your average boy, and his face, his face still had something about it that said 'Zelda'. Impa hadn't wanted to change her too much in appearance in case the transformation became irreversible (though with other things neither of them really had a choice in altering), but the magic had obeyed and a boy stood in place of the princess. Over time Impa had added mild changes, and Sheik became more and more familiar with being addressed with his new name.
"Well?" Impa asked, her foot tapping the ground impatiently.
Sheik sighed, and after practising the motion she had taught him he called, ever so faintly, on both the inherent magic of the Royal Family and on the power of the Triforce of Wisdom.
For just an instant he was blinded by the flash of light. The transformation was painless, in fact, she – he? felt nothing at all. She did not want to know what it felt like.
Inside the locked chest Zelda's nightgown disappeared, and Zelda stood before the mirror, clothed in the nightgown. She was no less tall, and most certainly no less muscular. Her eyes were blue, her skin had lightened – she seemed awfully pale now, like a creature that hadn't seen the sun for years.
"I suddenly want to do the splits," she said, struggling to keep herself from laughing – at what, she didn't know.
"In those clothes?" Impa snorted. "That Sheikah outfit still fits."
Impa went into the next room to retrieve it while Zelda tried out movements. She pointed her toes and walked as daintily as she could, and then took a few steps with the looser movements she had become accustomed to. It the mirror she could see the difference, between Zelda and Sheik.
She – he? smiled. Perhaps, if – probably when, she was a princess after all – she had a daughter, she'd make it an option for her to learn how to fight – and make dancing and embroidery and all that princess stuff optional too, except that you had to choose as least two. Do anything you want, but don't do nothing.
"Here," Impa said, handing over the blue, white and grey outfit emblazoned with the eye of the Sheikah. She turned away as Zelda – Sheik – changed.
"Teach me to dance," Zelda said. She allowed herself to laugh, she already knew how to dance.
Impa rolled her eyes. She stepped up and took the princess's hands. The attendant knew both female and male parts to the dance, and for someone so muscular she moved with a surprising grace.
Impa hummed the melody to one of the dances they performed in the castle – memories, don't think of them now – and they went spinning off around the room, the Sheikah woman and her young charge.
Suddenly Zelda was released and she almost slammed into the wall. Recovering quickly, she took up a battle stance with an impish grin – the second lesson was about to start.
Impa's attacks were lightning fast, but Zelda – Sheik – being a girl (boy) of only fourteen, was even faster. As they darted around the room Zelda could let her body do the fighting for her, allowing herself to sink into memories – think of them now.
When she was younger she had been entranced by the guards practising in the courtyard, and by Impa's almost inhuman flexibility. So at night, the young Zelda would try and do the splits, or perform push ups or anything else it was possible to do in a royal bedroom. But there were limitations to the space she was in and her knowledge, and one night she had mustered up the courage to sneak out, into the giant room where guards practised. She had stolen a page's pair of breeches and cut the bottom off one of her nightgowns to form a tunic.
For about two weeks she attempted somersaults and handstands, and for two weeks Impa had frowned at her complaints of aching muscles – until she caught Zelda one night hanging from the rafters of the training room.
Zelda had turned white, and lost her grip on the beam. She had managed – not too gracefully – to land unharmed on the mat in something resembling a certain battle stance, and looked up, not to see a face full of rage but a knowing smile.
From then on Impa would give her lessons at night, teaching her gymnastics and knife-throwing. Slowly her slender limbs became more muscle than anything else, and Zelda's skills on the dance floor had suddenly jumped to the top of the ladder. It was the gossip of the entire town – and so was the time she had slipped and performed a perfect split in front of the whole court.
She – he – smiled and returned to the fight, ducking a jab to her head and jumping as Impa attempted to sweep her feet out from underneath her. Once the fight started it was all she lived for – he? What was going on?
Distracted, she didn't see the fist hurtling towards her face and she was knocked back onto the floor with a broken nose.
"My apologies, Princess," Impa said, kneeling next to her and healing her nose.
"It was my fault, not yours," Zelda said, sitting up and wiping the blood off her face. "I was distracted." She took a deep breath and stared at her stained hand – was it her hand that was covered in blood? Or was that another princess? Was she still a princess?
"I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered. Fate had done this to her. "I don't know…"
Was she Sheik or Zelda? Girl or boy? What was happening?
"You are who you want to be," Impa said. Her eyes were gentle – this was the child she had taken care of since the day the royal child had been born – she knew her better than anyone.
"Then…Then I am Princess Zelda." She needed to do this, she needed to stay what she was for the sake of Hyrule. The Triforce of Wisdom was within her – she knew what she had to do.
She lifted her hand, and in a flash of light it was Sheik on the floor, with blood on his face and hands. His piercing red eyes were filled with determination.
"I am Princess Zelda."