No worries, still writing If Only for the few of you who are actually interested. But this exploded out of a crappy journal entry at midnight last Saturday and was completed five and a half hours later. I must have listened to Snow (Hey Oh) by the Red Hot Chile Peppers a million and a half times while writing and revising this. Enjoy, cause I think it's pretty darn good! XD
.:From the personal records of Queen Zelda VIII, recovered from her Majesty's office:.
"So here the world stands. And try as I might, I cannot tell what is left of us. I can't believe in what I feel anymore: the senses often betray the mind. Any meaningful questions are a curse, for I can find no answers. I am faced with these concerns everyday: Where is this nation going? How did we get into this endless battle? What does tomorrow hold? I am supposed to be wise and fearless, but in truth, I have no idea what the Goddesses intend. I am just trying to keep a firm grip on what has been placed in my palms, but I am so numb and so blinded by the past that I cannot tell what it is I am to face.
When I look in the mirror, I don't really know what to say to myself. The person in the glass seems tired, and I want to ask her what lies ahead of me, but she never answers. She just shakes her head heavily like she always does and spread her lips apart slowly, the skin gradually pulling apart and hovering idly, but no sound ever emerging. I will sit cross legged on the heavy rug for hours, her own legs twisted across from mine as I wonder what she wonders. Whatever advice is resting on her chapped lips, I will never know.
As this quill scrawls across what parchment is left, I sometimes pause to read over my stories, once my method of mental escape, and I cannot tell whether or not they are fiction. The lines in my life are so blurred and blended together so hazily that the only distinct marks left in the world are the words that cover these sheets. And on most days, when I spit out all these thoughts onto a blank page, I have absolutely no idea where it is leading.
This has been too much. The war has taken much out of me, my kingdom, everything. Damn it to hell! This struggle has even killed my father. The torn pieces swirl about my ankles and I am expected to piece it all together again into a victorious war campaign and a whole kingdom. The Dark King Ganondorf is working on gaining yet another of our bordering countries to join his Gerudo forces and I have nothing. He continues to slaughter my knights, and I feel every last tear of flesh. Every cry of horror rips through my own soul. And with each Gerudo warrior slain, the solemn feeling of duty sits heavy upon my breathless chest. I am tired of it all. I am sick of blood and tactics and military and I long to throw the desk of war games in the center of my chambers into the wall in a vain attempt to shatter the entire war and its horrors.
I do not remember the feel of skin against my own. I have forgotten the feel of human affection. Once my father may have loved me, and I him, but that was long ago. Never did I really spend time with the man, never did I know him. And now I am faced with the task of leading a nation with an ashen face of marble, unmoving, unafraid, unfeeling. My task is not to be a human, but a leader. There is a vast distinction.
How very convenient that I was only raised to be the later."
Zelda never felt more joy than when sitting in her vast magnolia tree and playing her flute. Princesses were not supposed to climb trees, but the five year old future monarch was not much for fairytales. They were neither practical nor realistic, and she had never understood why the damsels were always in distress. Worse still, they couldn't even save themselves from their own problems. Zelda imagined that it must have been very tiring to be a hero: always having to stop whatever it was you were doing to save a stupid helpless girl who only cared about shielding her honey-colored curls from minotaur spit. Occasionally Zelda found herself smiling at the idea of a very important looking knight in sparkling silver chainmail having to pause in the heat of a checkers game to save a shrieking lady from an old fat dragon, and after slaying the poor beast, (who was only bored, really) having to drag the lady from the cave for her fear of stepping in a spider web. However, this princess, a princess who climbed thick branches and stole stale sweets from the kitchen drudges, had no aversion to spiders. In fact, she found their twirling webs fascinating and often found herself gazing at the thread-thin tapestries that hung in her magnolia tree.
The magnolia tree was an escape from a life of emotionless, monotone banter and Zelda's impression that personality was frowned upon in the world of nobles and politics. For instance, when a man from the desert had come to discuss a drought in his homeland, both the desert man and Zelda's father the King had stoic faces. But she could feel the tension and the copious amounts of anger in the air. It was on days like this that Zelda tried desperately to flee from the stiff world she was to grow up in and into her tree, hidden in the back of the gardens. She never bothered trying to explain the stains and tears in her gowns, because either way she would be punished to hours of sitting, alone, in the quiet, bookless prison of her room.
Since Zelda never knew her Father personally, and her Mother had died in childbirth, the only kind of love or affection the Princess had ever received was from a nursemaid she had only for a year. Impa, as she was called, was a member of the Sheika tribe, and she often Told Zelda old lore from her ancient tribe. Zelda adored these stories because there were very rarely helpless damsels; Most of them could wield their own swords and required no hero to pause in his game of checkers. Impa held Zelda when she was alone, which was often. At first, Zelda found the feel of human skin confusing, since the only contact made in court was through satin gloves or thick coats. But she grew to enjoy being held by Impa as she listened to the tale of a Princess shooting down a monster on the heels of her stallion.
After Zelda and Impa had become comfortable companions, the nursemaid began explaining many arts that the Skeika children learned as useful skills: swordplay, weaving, whittling. She was only able to theorize about how these things were done since a Princess was only supposed to sit with her ankles crossed and look pretty, but Zelda listened with rapt attention. That is, until Impa rode away in the night.
Zelda had heard the nursemaid arguing with some members of the court about the desert matters, but she had paid them no attention. Zelda thought she had been abandoned by her only friend until she found a package wrapped up in simple parchment and wedged between her mattresses.
Crude and sharp, Impa's flute was handmade and coarse. But Zelda was quite happy with the high, twittering notes, and as she played she made up stories, ballads of heroes and princesses who were quite able to take care of themselves. She had always loved writing stories, and her imagination flew wildly along with the flute's tunes. Sometimes Zelda imagined herself a bird, able to fly away from the castle walls and into the world that lay on the outside. Alas, she had no wings and was not free. Zelda was bound to the throne so solidly, there might as well have been shackles around her ankles. Of course, the five year old did not realize how little flexibility she would have in her life.
"I am losing public support. More blood than ever flows in Hyrule, and not all of it from the Gerudo's war. There is rumor of revolution against me. Truth be told, I think it would be a lovely relief. Death and I would embrace like old friends. After all, I do think of him often; I have seen him many times before, so I am sure he knows my face.
The Hylian campaign is so weak that I am sure it would snap in half if I was only to press a single lithe finger against it. The Dark King has turned his forces against the Zoras and Gorons, a crime against nature. Differing races rarely look into each other's polotics, thus they hold injustices against every member of that species. Thus I find no surprise in the fact that the Zoras have stopped communicating with any humans at all, nor are the rumors of Goron attacks around Death Mountain shocking. Ganondorf has set the entire world against its neighbors. The people need some kind of hope, something to believe in. Din knows I am nothing they can throw their faith into.
I don't know if all of Nayru's love could save us now. My fourth in command, a knight under my father, led a troop of twenty score southwest, to the river valley. They fought well. They strived to save their county, but the Gerudo strived harder. My men died well, and that might have given some of them joy, but I find that not comfort whatsoever. For all I know, they died for a lost cause. Who did they put their faith in? My commander? The Goddesses? Farore forbid, me? Maybe even more than victory or an immediate future, this nation needs something to believe in other than demise.
And we all know they cannot believe in me."
Once, when Zelda was seven and managed to slip away from the world of stiff petticoats and sweltering throne rooms filled with tense relations and politics, she found a wing of the castle that she had never seen before. As Princess, there were very few chambers in the Castle that she did not know of.
These new halls were filled with the aura of ancient power and a glorious past. She was mesmerized by feel of history against her cheeks, on the backs of her hands, kissing her eyelids. An indescribable feeling of truth and splendor.
She wandered in awe down high-ceilinged hallways. Twisting and turning, she quickly became lost, but she hardly noticed. Time seemed to stand on end like a ballerina placed delicately and painfully on one wooden toe shoe, suspended and quiet. Slipping around a corner, Zelda came across a vast room with beautiful paintings that told empty meaningless stories on every surface. But the hollow stories were not what drew her attention; the young princess was drawn to a small, plain door with no ornaments or fairytales or dreams. She entered, and inside there was a room similar in size to her wardrobe. It was completely empty save a low pedestal, just her height. Zelda approached it and peeked over the edge to unearth a fate that never reached its betrothed.
.:Speech of Queen Zelda VIII, recovered from the Hyrule Castle Archives:.
"Out of the dark, out of all the pain and the horror and blood, a phoenix has risen out of black ashes. He has spread his wings triumphantly and sweeps across this dying land with vigor and hope. How did this happen? How did this wonder grow when the soil was poisoned? Somehow, a strong magnolia has sprouted without rich loam and has begun to blossom.
A moon's width ago, the goddesses sent me a dream. In this vision, the Dark King loomed over me and I was overcome with fear and helplessness. But from behind him rode a golden hero, garbed in green and come to save this land. A sword that glowed with the Bane of All Evil was raised high above his head, and he swung it down upon the wicked King's head. Golden triangles shone upon his sword hand and he fought the devil gallantly. Suddenly I had a shining bow in my palm, and I drew arrows that blazed with light. Shooting them sure and strong, I pulled back the bow's string, and light arrows flew into the heart of the demon.
For the first time since war was waged, I woke up filled with hope.
We, the people of this great nation, can overcome the trials and the tests. We are the people of the Goddesses. They crafted this land in their fingertips and at their fingertips we remain. Our hearts and souls are linked to them, and we shall not fail.
Good citizens of Hyrule, do not abandon your faith. We can rise to the occasion. Hyrule has in the past, and Hyrule will now. We have a hope yet. He bears the Master Sword of legend, and he shall save this land. Out of the ashes burned by the Dark King, our phoenix has risen. Let him raise Hyrule up! Let him raise us up!
Zelda had no idea of the power of the instrument in her hands. She had picked up the dark blue flute from the pedestal and turned it in her fingers. As she did, something resonated throughout her body and sent shivers down her spine. It was a simple flute, so very unlike her own. It was wide and round, the fingering difficult. She ran the pads of her fingers over the shallow holes on the surface and touched the gold triangles that rested on the mouthpiece. Bringing it to her lips, she blew quietly. The sound that escaped was so pure, so perfect, that she longed for more. Despite the tricky fingering, Zelda managed to make out most of a lullaby her nursemaid often sung to her.
The sound filled the small space so fully, Zelda felt as if she was in another world, another existence. She was not herself, but someone similar. Each phrase, rising and falling in crescendos and retards, filled her soul with a million other lifetimes. The mouthpiece fit against the crease of her mouth seamlessly, and as she grew more confident with her fingers, she gained more and more speed, faster and faster until the music swelled up inside her in such an incredible high that when she stopped to catch her breath, she felt a pain so intense it was almost physical. Her chest ached, and the eerie, wonderful notes hung in the air like lost snowflakes. Slowly, they fell to the ground and the magic faded. Zelda moved with caution and a solemn wonder as she placed the blue flute back onto the pedestal. She turned and walked back through the painted room, unspeaking and never once looking back.
.:Historic account recovered from the Hyrule Castle Archives, written in the hand of Queen Zelda VIII.:
The Hero was sent by the Goddesses to save Hyrule. He swept across the land undoing the evil of the Gerudo king Ganondorf.
The Hero's first trial was the Temple of the Forest, a dungeon where nothing was what it appeared. Ancient ghosts – poes – robbed the Hero of what he needed to reach the end and recover the Sage. He ventured through the twisting passageways and defeated the poes and their dark minions. But when the Hero reached the end of the Temple of the Forest, he was faced with the Phantom Ganondorf. It charged at him on a steed wrapped in amethyst flames and threw powerful orbs of demonic energy at the Hero. But he shot down the steed, reflected the energy, and slashed the demon puppet into defeat, rescuing the Forest Sage.
The second trial was below the shores of Lake Hylia, in the Temple of Water. The Temple of Water is vast and confusing, filled with many passageways and far more puzzles. The currents are perplexing, the levels are filled with dark spiders and creature that eat weapons, and in the depths of the dungeon, the Hero had to face the most terrifying thing imaginable: himself. A dark mirror of himself appeared among the illusions and aped his clever moves. Eventually, the Hero used the magic of the Goddesses and weapons of the Gorons and Zoras to defeat it. And when the Hero finally faced the water snake that strangled and coiled around him, he prevailed and rid the lake of its curse and released the Water Sage.
But while this happened, the Gerudo king seized Hyrule Castle and kidnapped the Queen Zelda. He blackened Hyrule at its heart while the Hero filled out the edges. Many Hylians believed it too be late. But not all.
As the capital was under attack, the Hero journeyed to the land of the Gerudo, won over their own warriors, and trekked through the desert. Many suffer hallucinations in the desert, or even die, but the Hero bravely used tools from the ghosts of the land and managed to reach the Temple of Spirits. He discovered an ancient artifact, the silver gauntlets. The Hero battled knights cast in heavy bronze armor, and when the time came, he defeated the underlings of the Gerudo king – the desert witches - with their own treasure: the mirror shield. In doing so, he saved a Gerudo, who was the Spirit Sage and second under the king, and befriended her.
At long last, the Hero came face to face with the evil king. The king laughed the Hero off, thinking him nothing more than a pest. But when the Queen, the Evil King, and the Hero were all together, their hands glowed in golden light of the holy triangles, a legacy to each: Power, Wisdom, and Courage. The Sacred Triforce.
After a long and tiresome battle, ages of the Queen shooting light arrows to the Beast Ganon's chest and the Hero slashing him down with the Sword of Evil's Bane, the Queen and the Hero prevailed. At long last, the demon was sealed away. At long last, peace was set into motion. At long last, they had won.
The Princess Zelda grew into a powerful, beautiful, and determined young woman. She had thrown away most of her childish expeditions; No longer did she climb trees or whittle or steel from the kitchen. She was growing into a strong heir and all agreed she would be an excellent monarch. Princess Zelda was confident and mature.
Yet sometimes, before the war against the Gerudo King, in the silence of the nights, she found herself slipping out of bed and into slippers before she knew what was happening. Out of her room, down corridors, into the bowels of the Castle she would venture. But in those nights, she never found what she was searching for. She never found the lost wing of the Castle. She never rediscovered the flute.
.:From a sheet of parchment recovered from Queen Zelda VIII's private chambers:.
I hate lying to my people. When I stare at the woman in my mirror, she looks disapproving of my actions. Unable to stand the sadness and regret in her eyes, I turn away from her. But she still sees. I can feel her staring.
The war was over. Queen Zelda was relieved, and her people cheered in sorrow for their fallen Hero, who collapsed after defeating the Dark King and never awoke. He was given the highest honors possible, the guard's salute, a large public grave, and a funeral that swept the entirety of Hyrule. Queen Zelda was in attendance, but she had a faraway look about her. Her subjects whispered about her dejected look, saying that she had loved the fallen Hero dearly, and that they were to be wed had he lived. They hardly knew the truth.
Zelda gave a short speech at the wake, recounting part of the epic final battle and the Hero's last words, words for Hyrule's future. She spoke solemnly and wisely about his bravery and courage, his undying loyalty to the kingdom he loved. When she stepped down from the dais, the crowd was silent and mourning. They did not even have a name for their Hero. Only the Queen knew his face. Yet the Hero was remembered in the greatest possible way.
After the ceremonies had been completed, the Queen was sitting quietly in her chambers, cross legged on the thick Gerudo rug, purchased long before the Hero's War, as it was being called. She glared into the silver glass at the woman who gave her a disapproving look. Zelda's brow was set and tired, and she reached up and ran her fingertips across the drained face in the reflected world. Suddenly, she snatched the vase of magnolia blossoms off the vanity and threw it into the looking glass, screaming at the top of her lungs. A sliver of porcelain ricocheted off the glass and lodged itself in her upper jaw. Zelda's hand drifted up to the wound and felt the warm blood that was beginning to bubble at the surface. And when her eyes flicked back up, the same weary face stared back at her. Only it was broken to pieces.
Zelda dashed to her desk and quickly retrieved a quill, ink, and parchment from her supplies and began scribbling as quickly as she could. Her chest felt lighter with each stroke of the goose feather, with each dip into the inkwell. As she finished, she rapidly rolled the parchment up without thinking of smudging the ink and strode hastily from her chambers.
The Queen had no idea how she knew where she was going, but somehow her feet led her deep into the Castle chambers, through corridors she had little memory of, and her skin began to thrum with the past magic. Her heart was racing, and the closer she got, the more hurried she felt. Soon the Queen was sprinting through hallways, skirts in one fist, scroll in the other. She nearly fell when she rounded corners, but she was too distracted to notice. She ran and ran and filled her head with nothing but the feel of the magic in her bones, the first thing she had been able to feel in years. Finally, she was there.
The room with the painted walls was of no consequence to the Queen; the stories were just as worthless as they had been before. Her eyes were set into the bare wooden door and her body pulsed strongly until her fingers felt the handle.
Zelda swore that the same notes of her lullaby hung in the air from thirteen years before. The hair on her arms and neck stood on end as she reached out to the sapphire flute. But as she began to bring it to her lips, she shuddered and stilled. A power stronger than she could begin to describe coursed through her body and she quickly dropped the flute back to the pedestal. It was not meant for her; she had only been meant to play it once.
Shaking her head, Zelda wrapped the parchment around the flute and quickly left the tiny room. As she walked away, her eyes ran over a painting on the wall and she saw paint depicting a man in forest green. Like every other painting in the room, it was a meaningless picture of a random face. Like every other painting, it meant nothing to Zelda.
.:Scroll resting with Ocarina, never discovered:.
The truth is far less interesting that our fantasies. And our country was falling into the despair of the truth. So I gave them a fantasy. With a renewed hope, the military campaign was refreshed and invigorated. The revolution halted due to the notion of a Hero.
I sent dozens of separate legions, all having been told of a great Hero who had already defeated the most monstrous of the desert peoples' magic, across the land to separate Gerudo strong points. We beat the Gerudo army on the boarder of the ancient forest through one commander's original tactics. Nayru only knows what would have happened if the enemy had breached the forest's life force. Then my best military commander camped at Lake Hylia and forced the Gerudo into the sunken lakebed. It was a cold no-man's-land for weeks until the floods came. A fourth of Ganondorf's army drowned then, with a good deal of healthy horses and a large percentage of his supplies. The few survivors were shot down by the archers on the center Isle. Then my best commanders made their way to the source: the Gerudo Desert. Since many of the women had been trying to get to Lake Hylia to save their comrades, the Fort held only half of its full capacity. Easily crushed.
But Ganondorf had guessed at an attack at his base, so he planned one on ours. And succeded. But after he seized the Castle, my private guard and I came to him and killed him, for we had foreseen Ganondorf's attack and stayed behind. I came to him in the throne room when all was quiet and quickly shot him through the heart, head, and neck with a strong bow and lithe arrows. After the victory, I gave speeches, buried an empty casket, and made the preliminary peace treaties with the Zoras, Gorons, and the women left in the desert base. The few remaining Gerudo in the capital were spared. If they resisted us and remained loyal to the dead man whose limp body was burned at stake, they were imprisoned or beheaded, depending on the gravity of their rebellion.
As for the phoenix, once upon a time a simpleton saw a fire, thought it a giant eagle, and the bird left nothing in its wake save ashes. They created a magic story out of what could not be explained. I, however, built reality out of my imaginative account.
Either way, there is no such creature. The phoenix is just a myth.
It just happened out of the blue. I really have no idea where it came from, but I am quite satisfyed with the results. Whoo! Reviews? Love? Hate? The little green button below is great to share these thoughts!
Thanks to Actual Dionysius for being the Hero of typo-prone writers and half asleep authors!