This is my first fanfic ever. For some reason I decided to have my own main character. Much of the stuff in this chapter has nothing to do with actual Twilight Princess (the only character from the games insofar is Zelda), but they'll be more and more connections as the plotline unfolds. Tell me what you think. All encouragement and criticism is welcomed. Thanks :D
2nd Draft--made a few plot additions, improved a few parts here and there. Thanks for the critique and/or encouragement so far. Major stylistic improvements will be made as I continue with the story, lest I never finish it in my lifetime.
Chapter 1
Tarun
The typical Hylian night would blaze with heavenly radiance from a myriad of stars. Gentle cosmic luminance would reflect upon the placid surface of Lake Hylia. It would not be silent; a hound would frequently sound its lonely bale, an owl would hoot, or a brief chat between two old friends would sound in the streets. The prodigious moon would be a beacon for wandering adventurers, guiding them towards the great silhouette of Hyrule Castle: a sanctuary from the aggressive wild, a shield of adamantine deflecting malevolence.
But this was not a typical Hylian night.
Where the stars should have twinkled, darkness intruded--the same tenebrosity that had devoured the moon. Lake Hylia sat cold and black, and the castle, barely revealed by the weak firelight of the town, loomed oppressively rather than protectively: the monstrous fortress of an ice princess. The wolves hid in their caves, the owls in their trees, and the people in their nightmares. A pervasive silence thrived in their stead, smothering all who dared defy it.
This was evil's night. A time when Hyrule stood as the graveyard that it was--a harbor for the long-dead warriors who fought so valiantly to protect it.
Tarun tried to ignore the anxiety that prodded his heart, timidly waiting for the onset of morning, though latently feeling that no morning was strong enough to penetrate this particular night. He shook his head, trying to shake worries from his consciousness, awaiting the zephyrs that so often swept in from the fields to cool his tension. But this night offered none; only a heart-thumping stillness. What was happening to him? Was this the way the proud Royal Guard were suppose to act--so nervous, so skittish? He must have hid his fallacies well, else Sia would have never regarded him with any shred of affection.
Just the thought of Sia made his heart flutter. Their last confrontation had been seared into his memory as if each variation of her rosy countenance, each wave of her elegant hand, each word from her lively lips were the most important things in the world.
Then he remembered the content of that confrontation. We can never be together. But what did that mean, and why had she said it? Could she still love him? No, that was impossible. A head priestess and a anonymous royal guard--the mere thought was so ludicrous that Tarun resented himself for believing it. Yet the idea still lurked in Tarun's mind, and Sia's suggestive instructions offered no recourse. Meet her at her house at midnight. Come alone.
The force from his knock opened the door; quizzically, it had stood ajar. He pushed it open to meet the gloom. Smothering his anxieties, he crept in.
"Sia?" he said, his hand hovering over the gladius at his waist, footsteps echoing off the clean tile floor. The room's opulence somehow penetrated the gloom. Carefully placed pottery twinkled at him. A tasteful divan cast an obtuse shadow. Crystal glasses. A tall candle: smoldering.
"Sia?"
Discovering no sign of her whereabouts, Tarun hesitantly ascended the marble stairs to the second floor hall. Dark windows lined it on the left, doors on the right. He proceeded, now clutching the hilt of his weapon. Blood throbbed in his ears...
A faint whimper, clearly coming from the last room. A name sprang from from his memory and rippled through his mind: Ruth... He winced at the inner pain it caused, a sorrow that threatened to drown his concentration. He literally shook his head in an attempt to scatter his emotions, but his efforts proved fruitless, so he decided to act first before he was swallowed up in some horrendous memory. He lunged through mind and matter, shattering his oppressive feelings and spinning to peer into the last room.
He blinked.
Later, he would try to remember the exact details of the incident, rotating it over and over in his mind. But some details never came. The room he entered could have been large or small, lit or unlit, decorative or austere. Its attributes were, however, irrelevant at the time. Thoughts were irrelevant. His attention was wholly consumed by the tormented figure before him: the epitomization of his nightmares.
She was propped up against a wall, bound by unseen fetters. He nearly bounded to help Sia, but something obstructing his way: a shadow, different from the other shadows, hovering in the air before him. It seemed to be some sort of humanoid creature: ligaments, a torso, a head, and...
Eyes. Feline, chiseled, stone-cold eyes, slicing through his facets and gazing into his soul. Triangular ears, pricked up in intelligent alertness. A black arm, characterized by exotic, iridescent tattoos, extending toward him, ending in a deliberately balled fist.
He made the connection.
But it was too late to react.
The creature's fist burst open, and an invisible force exploded into Tarun. He was projected far, then down, down, down, the sound of shattering glass splitting the night.
------------------------------------------------
It took him a few moments to realize that his eyes had already opened. What had happened? Had he lost consciousness? Pain jolted madly through his nerves, dulling his cognition. The contours of an image leaned over him--the shadow creature.
His hand moved feebly for the gladius. It touched only glass shards.
"Human," the creature said derisively, a paucity of pathos tinging its multidimensional voice. A glowing arm was outstretched, presumably to perform a swift coupe de grâce. Somebody screamed in protest.
The dark face furrowed in preemptive concentration, but an expression of pain spontaneously displaced it, and the creature gripped its shoulder. The complimentary sound of skewering air, which must have travelled slower than the projectile itself, followed shortly. The monster screeched and retreated to the shadows. Arrows peppered its path.
Tarun felt his consciousness draining, but turned his heavy head to glimpse the creature's escape, hoping to get some direction for an eventual pursuit. No such luck. Standing over its Sia, the undefinable sorcerer twirled ritually in the air, and both bodies degenerated into hundreds of dark, square leaflets, which ascended into the night.
They were gone.
Sia...
Tarun passed out, sneering with the awareness that history had repeated itself.
------------------------------------------------
Images grasped him. He was helpless. Strapped to a chair and forced to witness the workings of his chaotic subconsciousness.
An emerald-clad figured lowered its bow. Guards approached precariously. "What happened?" The figure extended a gloved hand towards the metallic object that had fallen in the creature's wake. As lanterns drew near, light splattered over the trinket. He froze. A beast howled in the distance.
The scene shifted, became more surreal, more amorphous, a series of concepts rather than scenes. A burning village. Raindrops hitting forest leaves. Thorns. Blood.
It changed again, became a memory replaying pellucidly before him.
"Hail, princess Zelda!"
The great doors burst open, revealing the gem of Hyrule. A great shuffle resonated through the hallway as the guards dutifully shifted into honorable stances. She was no less than a diamond; chiseled to perfection, polished with wisdom, she transversed the great hall with powerful dignity that characterized her lineage, yet with an aura of paradoxical humility, revealing a shred of genuine humanity absent in typical royalties. Locked in the same blank stare that the guard's respectfully held, Tarun peripherally gazed at her. He was still unaccustomed to the princess's rare visage and entirely doubted that he ever would--ever could--become accustomed.
He tried to preserve the mental imprint of the extolled princess after she had disappeared behind two massive doors, but it was as fleeting as a sunset.
------------------------------------------------
A soft voice called out his name.
Sia?
He swam to it, groped for it for driftwood. He opened his eyes to see those familiar blue eyes, that ray of golden hair. As his mind regenerated, the illusion dissolved; it wasn't Sia, but he wasn't altogether disappointed.
Pointed ears. Hazel-blonde hair. The dark, golden crown, with a cloudy emerald set within it. Zelda's silk voice washed over his turbulent consciousness like a calm wave. "Tarun, wake up."
He couldn't speak--couldn't believe his eyes. But something was wrong. He had never seen Zelda quite like this before. When she spoke, her voice somehow retained its consistent temperament, but the same couldn't be said of her countenance; its intimidating, sometimes cold detachment had been snapped by tension. Her eyes were a little less dry, her hair a little less brilliant.
The diamond had been chipped.
"You--" he stopped suddenly, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. "Your Majesty. What happened?"
"You survived quite a fall. You nearly broke your back. How are you feeling?"
She didn't answer his question. What happened to Sia?
"I'm fine, I guess," he replied, neglecting formalities. Zelda's immaculate face was unusually close to his own. Anxiously, he realized that he had never been nearer to the princess.
No, that wasn't true. He had known one princess, a long time ago.
"What were you doing at her home?" she said.
Tarun accessed his recovering memory. Glass. Stairs. A letter. A door. "She sent me a letter requesting my presence last night. She said it was about some--" he hesitated, unsure if he was violating Sia's trust in him. Zelda's eyes flickered, as if noting his reticence. No, there was nothing that Sia withheld from Zelda, her closest friend. "...some 'confidential' matter. She wouldn't tell me, your majesty."
"So you don't have any clue as to why she may have summoned you?" Zelda inquired, her countenance locked in genuine pensiveness. Apparently, Sia had indeed never told Zelda about the mission. Or she simply never had the time.
"No," he responded bluntly. Glassy-eyed or not, Zelda was still the princess of Hyrule, not his best friend. He gave a concise report about the entire incident. Entering Sia's house. Climbing the stairs. The conclusion left a chilling silence in the air.
"So she never gave you anything of particular interest?"
Why is she asking me this? Maybe she did know more about the assignment that he thought she did--more than he knew. "No."
The princess' eyes pierced his own, and he knew she was trying to read him. Confident in his sincerity, she turned and paced to the window and gazed out at the downpour. "Tarun...tell me about yourself."
Was this some kind of test? Tarun didn't say it, but he'd much rather just get up and leave than share his life story with the most daunting potentate in Hyrule--perhaps, even, the entire world. Besides, he didn't know where to begin.
As if sensing this latter complexity, Zelda said, "Tell me about Selorn."
The way she said it suggested she was talking about an event rather than a place. Personally, he simply didn't want to discuss either. He didn't want to remember; Selorn wasn't his home anymore, and the memories that went with it had become unfamiliar to him over the years. Hyrule was his home. New experiences. New memories. He had come here and adapted, and he wasn't going to leave, not in body, not in mind.
Pit.
Pat.
Outside, raindrops were falling heavy upon the soggy earth. The ambient din summoned powerful memories that Tarun's still brittle mind struggled to suppress. There was pain in those memories. There was love too, but it was mostly pain. Zelda turned away from the window, waiting for his response.
"When I was fifteen, Selorn was attacked," he began, struggling to be apathetic, "A band of thieves from Gerudo came from the desert, entered into the forest, and invaded our village." He hesitated, pondering how much information he should reveal--how deeply he could discuss memories without becoming too emotionally turbulent. "The attack inspired me to become a soldier of Hyrule, so I moved to the city." The lie was crude, but he pulled it off well as he had in countless other incidences.
"Your motive is revenge, then?" Zelda posed. Many soldiers were deployed to seek out and apprehend thieves. The criminals of Gerudo were an especially high priority.
Tarun contemplated it. He wondered how long he could continue to invent fabrications under the princess' unrelenting scrutiny. Eventually, he resolved to tell as much of the truth as he could. But how much of the truth did he know? There were many reasons he left, why he couldn't return to the broken town which harbored him, why he couldn't settle for Ordorn or some other farming district. But, as he pondered the question, he realized that, though he naturally thirsted for the bittersweet taste, vengeance had not been the fuel that powered his flight.
Then he noticed Zelda's suddenly grave stare upon him--a steel gaze that was completely impervious to his analyzations. He gradually realized that the emotions she had revealed earlier were just a ploy to gain his confidence. Why did she care so much about him? Why couldn't she just stop? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?
Was she trying to take him apart, piece by piece?
She must have noted his reluctance to elaborate. It was clear to her that he was filtering out many essential pieces of his life. "Tarun..." again sounding sympathetic, as if they were old friends, "...what do you fear to tell your princess?"
Her final words, though softly spoken, tore into Tarun more deeply than any sword. They sliced through his mental dams, and he was tossed into a memory so horrific that it threatened his well-crafted veneer. If only she knew how she mocked him! If only she understood his agony, that angry touch of betrayal, that pain of loss, that eternal ghost of the past that tormented him daily!
She awaited his reply.