A/N: I am so tired right now, this probably isn't gonna be very good, but eh. My prologue for Under Grey Skies was a bit iffy too.
Basically, I've seen quite a few ZelGan's that are based around the 'meets him in a dream' theme, given Zelda's prophetic visions. But, like I've said over 9000 times at various points, I also adore mirrors in Zelda fiction; mirrors are just awesome, and I dabbled a little with that theme in UGS too. Mirrors are constantly around in the Zeldaverse as a portal and/or barrier between dark and light, so I wanna play with that a bit more.
Morna's done a couple of crackers under those themes as well, and her new one hits the dream theme perfectly, so I've felt a need to perfect my mirror theme in turn. Not sure how long it'll be or anything, but this is basically like a prologue/teaser. (Which is horrible, because the quality is probably poop, but if I was more awake than this I'd be writing Sentinel instead).
oOoOoOo
In the quiet hours of a bleak winter morning, fogged air thick with chill and the scent of dew, the child invaded the world with a crisp cry enough to match such weather. Red washed as she was with her mother's blood, the royal midwives were quick to tend to her, sombre and morose as the Queen began to succumb to her strains. She was already so weak and frail before going into labour, now dwarfed by the size of the canopy bed she lay upon. Shallow and ragged breathing rolled from blue tinged lips, ever weaker, in answer to the spirited wailing of her newborn daughter.
From beneath the sweat drenched locks of brown that clung fast to paling skin, the Queen's eyes fluttered dulled to the faint sound of a voice, scarcely able to hear it over the babe.
The elderly midwife's tone was soft, humbled, though clear in the gravity of what they all knew to be coming. "A girl as you had hoped, your Majesty…" as the child was bathed a few feet from the bedside, the scene was little more than a blurry haze of figures, coloured streaks to the Queen's fading gaze.
To defy the sadness, the sovereign offered a fey smile, letting long lashes enclose the world in a soon to be familiar black. Barely able to voice more than a whisper, breathless, she gave an amused sigh enough to baffle them all.
"My hopes… have very little to do with it, Vera…" allowing her head to loll against the pillow, she heard the midwife's breath still—that was confirmation enough that her fate was mere moments away. "And what of… my husband?" she managed weakly, drawing a small gasp of relief from the woman.
Hesitant though she was to answer, the elderly woman could only shake her head and resign herself to truth. There was no time for duplicity, and even in kindness, she simply hadn't the heart to deny the beloved Queen of anything. Bowing her head low in empathetic shame, Vera would turn to her aid, holding out her arms to receive the precious bundle. Leaning close so that the mother could see, the wailing began to cease—they knew the Queen hadn't even strength enough now to hold her.
"…He is… still entertaining the Lady Moran, I'm afraid. A runner has already been sent to inform him of your condition, as well as that of the Princess."
Silence fell in that moment, all of the women present agreed in their quiet resentment of the King's roving eye. With heavy hearts, they could only pray the Queen found reward for her suffering when she passed into the Goddesses' care this day. As the sovereign's eyes cracked open to view her child, they were no more than blinded slivers of icy blue—she would never see her daughter clearly, though somehow, she didn't need to.
She drew a tentative breath, so strained it was clear to be her very last, and for it the tearful women around her would listen carefully and remember the sweetness of her voice—perhaps one day, they would hear it again, reborn.
"I wish to name her… for my late mother…" as she spoke, the life seemed to leave her body, carried upon the words. "Tell her that… I loved… her…more than anything… in heaven and earth…"
With reverence, they saw her chest fall never to rise again, and still cradling the Princess delicately Vera drank in the details of the infant's face, knowing it would one day match the Queen's for beauty. As the baby girl shuffled weakly in her arms, wrapped secure within the warmth of a blanket, a sad yet hopeful smile appeared upon the elderly woman's face.
As her aid finished a private prayer, that smile was turned upon her, as well. "I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime, Anjula…" with a small shake of her head, the tiniest chuckle bubbled up in her croaky throat, and she knew now what the Queen had meant.
Blinking as she wiped away a tear, the blonde haired aid studied the midwife carefully, quiet and hopeful though she mourned. "…See what, Ma'am?"
"…The birth of a Princess Zelda."
Anjula perked up some at that, green eyes filling with warmth as she too gazed upon the sacred child. Indulging in the vision of Zelda as she fell quiet and into a peaceful slumber, she waited for a nod from the midwife to tear her gaze away and tend to the now dirty basin. But as the blonde bent to retrieve it, the flash of something caught in the corner of her eye.
With a shriek, the silver basin clattered to the stone floor, water washing out to stain the carpet runner as the aid stood swiftly with a fright. The upset was quick to cause a flinch to travel the room, the midwife whipping to the sound with a gasp. Sleep torn from the tiny Princess sent a pitched cry echoing loud once more, and it seemed a disturbing omen as Vera stared wide eyed at her aid.
"Good heavens, Anjula! What in blazes was that about?" she hushed, rocking the wailing Zelda to comfort from the shock. The blonde was already frantic by the time the question came however, near speechless as the pointed towards the corner of the room, paled.
"Th-the looking glass, Ma'am! An apparition with hair like blood…!"
Standing at full body length and framed by ornately carved rosewood, the Queen's mirror was without a single scratch, cold glass shimmering by torchlight to face them as a silent witness. But as the elderly midwife turned her gaze to it, frightened by such a claim and clutching the child protectively, she saw nothing more than the orange flicker of flame and crimson carpet beneath their reflections. A relieved sigh came of it as she continued to soothe the babe, and Vera gave her aid a stern though understanding look as a grimace deepened her wrinkles.
"Now, now, settle yourself… It is only the carpet and the flame to spook you." Though the blonde whipped her head back to stare, unsure of it all now, the midwife cleaved to her in empathy to settle a calming hand upon the girl's shoulder. "You're grieving, dear, and without sleep through her Majesty's labour. If you do witness the spirits in this place, have no fear of them, Anjula… they are simply the Kings and Queens of ages past come to carry away their fallen daughter. They'll do you no harm."
Though Anjula settled some for such reassurance, her green eyes fell warily to the newborn Princess, and deep within her she felt a great sense of unease for it. She had sworn she'd seen the dark and threatening figure of a man standing by them in that moment, reflected there upon the glass… but slowly, she came to nod, accepting it to be nothing more than a trick of the light.
"You… You're right, Ma'am, I'm sorry for it. Yes, I'm out of sorts for the tragedy of it all, my mistake…" she offered then, guilty as the Princess' cheeks reddened with her tears, tiny fists clenched tightly.
Despite it, both of them would jump then for the clap of thunder in the sky, the angry rumble like a growl as sharp rains began to pour and patter against the window. Lightning flashing through the darkness outside was like a warning for them to leave, and with respectful haste the midwives tended to their duties as was appropriate. Black clouds twisted the fog like dunnest smoke to claw at the ash brick of the castle that night, and as many more fell into mourning with the news of their beloved Queen's passing, it seemed only fitting that the weather be so miserable as well.
Though Anjula quickly recovered from the curious apparition in her Majesty's mirror, dismissing it further as the night wore on, the infant Zelda did not. Left upset by the start, it seemed, the babe remained restless to struggle and wail without pause. Vera could not coax her to sleep, a wet-nurse could not feed her to soothe, and even the arms of her father—when finally the King came to inspect her—did nothing to assuage her cries. Blamed upon the thunder, or perhaps the absence of her mother's scent, even whispers of her father's infidelity; many gave reasons as to why the Princess was so inconsolable for one so freshly born, but none could truly place the cause.
All the while, as the Queen's cooling body was taken away, bed stripped and the royal coroner closing the doors behind him with a lonely creak, the mirror stood and watched…
And faint within the silvered glass, left alone to wait patiently within the bleak chamber, it grinned an awful smile.