LONG ASS INFO BIT:
Rated For: I always think of this as the fun part 'cause you get teasers as to what to look forward to, and that's always awesome. So. Violence, including but not limited to murder, torture, fighting (Physically and verbally), serial killing (I think only one case, but I could be wrong), a moblin invasion, mentions/practices of infanticide, and dueling. Alcohol use-Mostly Link but everybody at some point, 'cept Ganondorf (duh) and Impa. I think. A lot of cultural differences and religious differences too. Racism. Language, crude and foul. Crude humor, obviously, and general teenager drama and crap. VERY corrupt morals (I like grey). Also, young children doing things they shouldn't be. Also, trusting random internet strangers (Don't do it, kids!). Bullying, abandonment, and other related issues (Lots of this…). Angst. LOTS OF FLUFF (Which is in this section because it's fluff). Sexual innuendoes and activities (Because apparently Z was right, and Agent Firebird was mean about it), though no sex (At the moment).
And, while I don't feel that this has to be up here, some people freak out about it, so, YES, there are guyxguy and girlxgirl and girlxguy relationships and issues pertaining to those. And maybe some peculiar gender/sexual preference-related issues. But, no Groose x Impa! Because, you know, ew.
Notes: So this fic is totally different from anything I've ever done before. I generally hate all Modern Zelda AUs because everyone makes basic mistakes and puts it out of the Zelda world, so this fic works REALLY EFFING HARD to correct that and leave it a story with an awesome plotline and awesome characters and actually something worth reading without confusing you to death, like A Route does. Also, it tries to correct relationships moving faster than the speed of light, because you're not going to fall in love with someone and jump their bones and declare your undying affections for someone you've known for two seconds. Anyway, I ask that you give this a chance because I don't know what I'm doing with this and I just made it sound a lot worse than it actually is, I promise. Updates will be slow and sporadic but long, in general. This is actually the most lighthearted thing I've ever tried to write that's…you know, long. So….Try not to look back on that sentence and be horrified later on LOL.
The Sheikah Language is not intended to sound like/resemble any other language and any correlations are purely coincidental. I'm open to criticism-in fact, I ask that if you see something wrong with it, please tell me-but hate will be dealt with accordingly. (Which sounds more threatening than it looks. I don't like to get too confrontational online because when I do I am lazy and don't care enough to actually make it worth the effort).
I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy (what tense should I use? -ed?) writing it~
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Although he wasn't allowed to do so unless he was with an Elder or in the reservation's borders, Sheik worked on his battle training while waiting for someone to enter the graveyard. It wasn't a display of aggression or of strength, as he moved through the Uirah his aunt had drilled into his head, but proof of his blood. Sheikah never trained those not of their number, and it was vital the dead haunting the cemetery understood that he wasn't as much of an intruder as they feared.
It was harder than it usually was, as he was wearing a heih outfit-bandages wrapped tightly around his body, covered by baggy dark-blue pants and a matching shirt, and leather boots. The neckline of his shirt, as always, turned into a cowl-not all Sheikah wore it, and lately masks were preferred by those Sheik's age, but the skill it took to maneuver and balance with the cloth had always appealed to him. His hair, long to signify he had not married, was pulled into a neat, thin braid down the center of his back, bandages tying the strands together tightly with bangs hiding his left eye-a personal preference, nothing more. The only weapons on him were four daggers-one on each arm and leg-and a number of throwing needles secreted away. Very lightly armed, considering he was in what some believed to be the most dangerous place in Hyrule.
He shifted his stance slowly, glancing up through his bangs at the crowd of Poe lights glistening around him. The layer of agony caking everything, the aching of the mourning souls, was suffocating. Their previous caretaker's death was far too fresh in their memory for him to be here, but Delr Midna had been adamant. Power, even his, was meant to be used, and tending to the dead was the only useful thing he could ever do with his.
He'd hoped the Uirah would soothe some of the calmer Poes and reassure the rest of them that he didn't mean them any harm, but it had been over an hour and none of the flames had disappeared. Letting out a soft exhale, he slid out of the stance he was in and closed the Uirah, then dropped down beside a nearby gravestone. Bleeding was always the easier option, but the Elders generally frowned upon that and the punishment for anything they deemed radical or unsuitable would be severe-It was a dangerous practice, unless one knew how shallow the cut to the wrists had to be, and too many Sheikah had been lost to it in the past. It didn't help that they didn't like him, either.
Overall, though, the Kakariko graveyard hadn't been too bad. As the only burial place outside the Shadow Temple itself that housed violent spirits, he'd expected a volatile welcome from its inhabitants. With its sprawling grounds-he'd arrived at noon and only covered about a quarter of it, and it was fully dark out now-it held enough spirits to form an army, and souls fickle enough to do so on a whim. And yet none of them had touched him. They'd followed him, to be sure, but the stronger dead-ReDead and Dead Hands and the like-hadn't so much as stirred. The dead didn't know what to make of him yet, and he didn't want to offend them or force them back into slumber, so they simply watched the other, growing accustom to the other's presence.
He ran a hand across the gravestone idly, feeling the weight of the ages in its crumbling material as he sank into it. It was calm here, despite the tension aching in night air, and he found that he liked it.
A grin flickered across his lips, unseen. Elder Midna might have placed him there, but he was excited. It was beyond anything he'd ever have expected, being allowed to tend to the Kakariko graveyard. He almost found himself looking to the future, hopeful as to how this would turn out.
The graveyard had been strategically located, blocked in on three sides by sheer cliff faces that would allow nothing, living or dead, purchase. A massive wall narrowed the fourth side down to a single gate through which things could enter or leave, and his magic encased the entire place, winding through the bindings placed by previous caretakers tightly. Nothing could get in our out, whether it had a heartbeat or not, without his consent. As such, the moment someone approached the gate, he knew.
Poe lights scattered when he moved, pushing himself up. It was late for a Hylian to come, but he was glad for the interruption even if his muscles weren't. It wasn't a long walk to the gate from where he'd been sitting, and the lampposts flanking the entryway came into view shortly, blazing with a harsh light against the dusk of night. He winced inwardly and blinked for a moment, slowing his pace to allow his eyes to adjust. The Hylian waiting for him below the pools of yellow-white light seemed oblivious to its effects. He was around Sheik's age, male, with unkempt dark gold hair and sharp blue eyes that widened upon seeing him.
"Is Dampè alright?"
The question surprised Sheik. Elder Dampè had only been a grave-tender to the Hylians of Kakariko. He hadn't been forbidden from contacting the residents, but it was usually frowned upon. None would mourn his passing outside the Sheikah-but this particular Hylian seemed to have known Elder Dampè, and fairly well, if his reaction was any indication.
Sheik signed regret and sorrow automatically, lips parting to speak, and then remembered to reply in Hylian, not Sheikah.
"I am sorry. Elder Dampè passed the night before the last. If we had known you were close, we would have sent something…" Sheik trailed off, unsure of how to deal with the Hylian's stricken expression. A heavy silence enveloped the both of them, and after a second of it Sheik unlocked the gate and swung it open for him.
"Was it peaceful, at least?" The Hylian finally asked, seeming just as lost as Sheik did.
Sheik visibly hesitated.
"I…believe so. My aunt disagrees."
"How is it a debate?" The Hylian asked, face scrunching up in bewilderment. Sheik wished Marin were there-she knew how to talk to people. He didn't.
"Elder Dampè had been sick for a while. He was tending the dead when they slew him."
"…You do understand what the word 'peaceful' means, right?"
Sheik signed disapproval at the lack of formality in the Hylian's tone absently as he shot the boy a glare.
"Elder Dampè had been caring for this graveyard for almost a century. He belonged to the dead as much as they belonged to him. He hated being weak and his sickness bound him to wasting away bit by bit until he could not control his own body. The dead killed him because they could not bear to see him suffer, which I believe he preferred to the death he had been facing previous. My aunt does not agree with me." He spoke very slowly, struggling to draw the Hylian words out of his memory. He could speak enough of the language to be understood, but he wasn't certain if he had spoken correctly.
The Hylian lifted his hands in a gesture Sheik thought to be surrender, laughing. Sheik felt irritation bubbling with him. His Hylian wasn't that bad, was it?
"It still doesn't sound peaceful, but yeah, I get it. I started coming here a lot after my Grandma died to visit her grave, you know? After a while Dampè started inviting me in to talk…He hated being old." The Hylian said conversationally, striding in. Sheik frowned at him, but closed and locked the gates. The Hylian stopped when he saw the Poe lights.
"What's…?"
"The dead are upset. They lost their...Sahm." Sheik let out a noise of irritation as the Hylian word escaped him, drawing a snort of amusement from his companion.
"I will accompany you. I am not sure they will behave." Sheik sighed, giving up on the word. The Hylian nodded, turning to face him with a dramatic flourish.
"I'm Link." He said, sticking his hand out. Sheik blinked at the hand-he really needed to brush up on Hylian customs-and offered a shallow, brief bow. The awkwardness of the movement pained him, and he caught a grin flickering across the Hylian's face.
"I am Sheik."
Amusement clear in his eyes, the Hylian imitated the bow surprisingly well. Link led the way through the graveyard, Sheik content to trail after him. Poe lights spun around them while they walked, familiar enough with Link to ignore him and unfamiliar enough with Sheik to join a long procession. The tension had suddenly broken, but Sheik had no idea why. He would have been worried for Link's safety if he wasn't so comfortable here.
"So why are you here?"
"The Elders placed me here to see how I handle the graveyard." Sheik said softly, holding out a hand to a small purple Poe light. He didn't expect it to actually come to him, but it bounced over to him excitedly and wove its way through his fingertips before settling onto his palm. He reached out with a tendril of magic, gently soothing it, and the amethyst light winked out of existence.
"Did it die?" The Hylian's question surprised Sheik, and he looked up briefly.
"No…it has gone back to sleep." Link seemed to accept this answer fairly easily, for a Hylian. He nodded and turned off of the path they were on. Sheik followed, impressed that the other boy seemed to know where he was going.
"Dampè used to swear at them and occasionally throw things until they disappeared. Once he spent an hour chasing one around with his slinky-shot thingy, which I thought was a pretty stupid idea 'cause you can't actually touch a Poe, but he threatened to hit me with it when I said so. I like your method better. And…this is it." Link said, gesturing with one hand to a rather simple grave tucked carefully against a cliff wall. A scraggly bush sheltered it from the rain. It had been trimmed so that it grew in a hollow alcove around the grave. The job was not the neatest, but there was still a sort of beauty to its functionality.
"Touch the wall or shout if they do anything that they should not, please. They could grow volatile tonight." It was as much a warning of what the Hylian could expect as it was an offer of aide. Sheik received a nod and an amused look for his troubles, another reminder that he would have some studying to do when he got home. In a month he would begin his second Rheshae, and the encounter with Link had proven just how lost he was. Maybe Elder Midna would be willing to help him without killing him for asking? He could say a lot of things about her, but she was an excellent teacher. And he knew Impa wouldn't help him…
He wandered off, towards Elder Dampè's former residence. It was a small building that had weathered with time, walls covered in brown vines and brambles, shaded by the skeletal branches of a long-dead tree. Sheik didn't enter it. The key hung around his neck, where Elder Renado had placed it that morning, but he wouldn't put the added stress on the dead, who already saw him as an invader. He rested his back against the wall, gazing out across the cemetery as he slid to the ground. It was growing colder out and already mist was drawing around the edges of his vision, eating away at the graves steadily.
A green flame bounced its way over to him and dropped onto his lap, extinguishing as soon as it touched him. It snatched at his magic the moment it touched him and dropped itself back into the slumber of the dead, startling him. They were willing to go to sleep? The mass of them in front of him stopped flickering for a moment-and then they tackled him.
It was like being hit by a crowd of clamoring children, each soul demanding his attention. He scrambled for his power, tugging it free and slowly enveloping each Poe.
He focused on each individual soul for a few moments, learning how their power acted so that he could distinguish it from the others before lulling it to sleep. A rainbow of colors-blue, purple, black, white, yellow, orange, green, pink, red-flared in his vision and vanished when he touched them.
His right hand began to ache, slowly burning until it felt as if it had been thrust into an open flame.
The Poes fled when he jerked his hand to his chest, body convulsing when the pain grew too much. He cursed softly, tugging free the bandages that obscured his marking from the view of others.
The golden triangles burned with radiant light. A cluster of three, edges touching, it was a symbol of the Triforce-possibly the most holy artifact in the entirety of Hyrule. His mark was different, of course. The bottom left triangle, symbolizing Wisdom, was again splintered into three smaller triangles. The top triangle of that fractured third blazed far more brilliantly than the others did.
The pain sank further, searing its way up his arm as he fumbled with the bandages, years of practice the only thing that assured he rebound his mark neatly and as tightly as it should have been. The light was immediately snuffed out-it never glowed beyond his bandages, inscribed as they were with the Sheikah symbol for darkness on the inside. The pain dissipated as well, as he rebound his power along with the symbol-again, because of his aunt's power lingering in the symbols on the cloth. It was a focus he used to draw his magic back under control, and he used it then frantically.
He'd have been killed by now for the mark if it wasn't for her.
He let out an unstable breath, finishing the bindings, and the Poes returned, flickering hesitantly before approaching him again. They were cautious now, upset. They refused to let him sense anything beyond the vague hint of their emotions, and he scowled at them petulantly.
The web he had spread across the graveyard twitched, and he bolted to his feet, stumbling before managing to catch his balance. It wasn't Link-it came from the very back of the cemetery. Inwardly berating himself for his mistake, he strode through the graves.
The Poes bounced into a long, thin line behind him, mischief radiating from all of them. They were entirely at ease with him suddenly, and it worried him. What were they plotting?
They bumped his shoulders, tugged at his braid. One of them nestled into his cowl and remained there, cool and warm at the same time against his throat. His knives slipped out of their hiding places and danced around in the air around his head until he snatched them back.
His mood was light when he reached the source of the breach, three males laughing as they stumbled over graves, knocking down ancient, worn stones.
"-Supposed to see in the dark and stuff. This probably isn't the best way to do this." The speaker was a tall, lanky boy Sheik's age with a tattoo beneath one eye and pale lavender hair tied back into a ponytail. One of the Wind Tribe, if the small eddies of mist swirling around him was any indication. The Poe lights vanished, the specters instead choosing their lightless forms although the one within his cowl still emitted a pale blue light, unseen save for when Sheik tilted his head back and it illuminated his chin. Sheik slowed his gait and kept himself to the shadows while he circled the group.
"He's alone. We don't have a better shot coming up anytime soon." The words were accompanied by a snort from a white-haired Hylian with 'imperious' in every tilt of his face, from the angle of his nose to the ice in his eyes. He was older than the Wind Tribe boy by at least five years and had to be a college student, in the Hylian world.
"Shush. Shadows grow closer." It was the third who spoke, slanted eyes dark grey and skin marked in tattoos the likes of which Sheik hadn't seen in a while. Sheik was impressed that he'd been noticed, and eyed the boy-older than him by two years or so-speculatively as he emerged.
All three stopped and stared at him, the Wind Tribe boy's eyes widening briefly for a moment.
"Found him." The grey-eyed boy said, laughing softly.
Sheik reached out with his magic, searching for how they had gotten into the cemetery-there was no gateway, so magic was the only answer.
The eldest boy sneered at him and raised a hand, his power forming a solid wall against Sheik's. Sheik frowned, and pushed. The wall crumbled immediately, and Sheik caught, for one moment, an echo of decaying power, rotten and sulfurous and toxic, before it faded entirely. He shuddered at the touch, retracting his power and blinking as he focused on the trio before him.
"I ask that you leave now before you wake the dead. I cannot keep them from killing you if they grow enraged, and your trespass is enough to do that." Sheik said softly, bowing slightly to acknowledge their presence. The Wind Tribe boy laughed aloud, eyes widening in mirth.
"We'll be leaving shortly." The Hylian replied, eyes hard with anger as he moved forward. He had offended him by repelling his magic so easily, Sheik realized. The grey-eyed boy did so first, however, and tackled Sheik, glee lightening the shade of his eyes.
Sheik had trained in battle since he was five years old, and had achieved a level of skill that provided a difficult challenge to his aunt, the single most renowned warrior among both Sheikah and Gerudo. And he fell beneath this attack-because the moment the grey-eyed boy made physical contact with him, the dead grew furious, and he would not-could not-lose control of his first charge the first day he was caring for it, and because Link was still there, somewhere, and they wouldn't discriminate between enemy and innocent. He thrust all of his focus onto keeping the dead silent.
He was only still for a few moments before he achieved a sort of equilibrium between keeping the dead at bay and focusing on what was going around him, but it was enough for the grey-eyed boy to have knocked the air from his lungs. Sheik reacted instantly, kicking his assailant off of him and rolling to his feet.
Something slammed into his back, sending him crashing into the earth. A shoulder bashed against a gravestone painfully. The Wind Tribe boy was whispering to himself, eyes entirely violet as he waved a hand at Sheik. Another gust of wind, visible with the dead leaves twisting violently through the air, shot towards him. Sheik rolled out of the way, flexing his arm to make certain it was still useable. It hurt, of course, but it obeyed his commands relatively easily enough. The Hylian lifted a hand to the sky-Sheik threw an arm over his eyes as he closed them-and light seared his flesh.
The Sheikah were not made of Shadows and light was not fatal to them-but this was not pure light, holy light. This was corrupt, stained with the same aura of decay he had sensed earlier. Poe lights burst into existence all around them, a maelstrom of burning flames enraged over the poisoning of their home.
Sheik's control splintered, and he threw everything he had into it, letting his body drop to the ground as he fled inward, to his core, and pushed all of his power out. He was putting too much strain on his mind, using all of his magic like this, but he saw no other alternative. Any failure on his part, even under these circumstances, to keep the dead in line would result in harsh punishment from the Elders-and his life was already hanging by a single, fragile thread.
A short, but brutal, beating ensued. Sheik couldn't keep track of the injuries-the dead were furious, their fury lending them power, and he was only just strong enough to keep them all from-
His control splintered again.
"Iha!" It was Sheikah for stop, and it was directed at the dead, but there was still a disbelieving laugh from above him somewhere.
One of them knew Sheikah?
He was lifted from the ground by his upper arms and they began dragging him. The lack of violence calmed the dead somewhat, allowing him to focus on what was going on around him.
"…-sure?"
"Are you saying you want to back out?" It was the Hylian, his tone dangerous.
"No. I just don't think that this will work the way he thinks it will." The Wind Tribe boy replied, voice even and hard as iron as he dragged Sheik's left arm along.
"The Blood-Eye is conscious, somewhat." The grey-eyed boy, holding his right arm, cautioned. Sheik supposed he should have been angry at the insult-it was an old racial slur most often used by Hylians-but he filed everything he heard away for later instead. His aunt and the other Elders would want to know what it was he heard-and this stranger using a primarily Hylian insult gave more away than the boy thought it did.
"It isn't like he's going to do anything." The Wind Tribe boy snorted.
"For a legendary Sheikah, he was easy to beat." The Hylian replied, kicking Sheik in his stomach. The dead again surged, keeping Sheik's body from automatically curling inward as all of his energy was focused on them for a brief moment.
"His entire being is focused on keeping the spirits from tearing us apart. He was easily defeated because he is trying to save our lives." The grey-eyed boy replied evenly, tone suddenly cold. He sounded almost offended by the Hylian's disregard. The Wind Tribe boy hesitated at that, grip loosening somewhat.
"Vaati, don't let go of him." The grey-eyed boy said softly, too quietly to be heard by the Hylian.
Sheik opened his eyes then, realizing with a start that they had been closed. Blood was trickling down the side of his face, warm and wet. The Poe light tucked in his cowl was still burning, still cold against his skin. The arm the grey-eyed boy was holding felt broken and was being wrenched at an awkward angle. Sharp pain stabbed his chest with every breath he drew in. Yet none of his weapons had been discovered.
He tilted his head up slightly, feeling fog tugging at his brain-he was straining his magic to the point of death, almost, forcing so much power into keeping the dead at bay.
A hand seized his chin, jerking his head up and his cowl down. The Hylian's cold, icy eyes sneered down at him.
"We just need the one eye. We can kill him afterwards. He doesn't care what happens to this one. It's the girl he-" The Hylian's eyes widened and he let go of Sheik as if he was on fire-which, with the single Poe Sheik was unable to control bursting from the cloth that had previously hidden it, it probably looked like he was.
"Osfala are you-?" Vaati released him and jumped to his companion's aide-and Sheik slammed a blade into the grey-eyed boy's leg. He was released and he let himself tumble away from them, pain blinding him briefly. Something tackled him, wrestling him to the ground and then punching him in the jaw as hard as it-probably the boy he'd stabbed-could.
He saw stars-and his head was lifted off of the ground. He caught a blurry glimpse of feral, grinning grey eyes, and his head cracked audibly against a grave. Just before his sight faded, just before he dropped into darkness, he heard a shout, unfamiliar and far more furious than anything he'd ever heard before.
And then the pain blossoming throughout his head took him.
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Uirah-A sort of battle dance/form the Sheikah practice, it's just their word for it.
Sahm-Father.
Rheshae-WILL BE EXPLAINED LATER. (Chapter 3).
ALL ARE SHEIKAH WORDS. I AM MAKING UP A FUCKING LANGUAGE FOR THIS SHIT. IT'S SERIOUS.
...I think that's all the Sheikah in this. So yeah. This is a huge thing. LOL But I've been dying to post this so...This has a fairly complicated plot. Kick ass, if I do say so myself, but you know.
The worst thing about writing villians is that you fall in love with them, then you can't put them in other roles that would fit them perfectly. BUT! Anyway! Thoughts? Anything I did horribly wrong? Horribly right? I had something important to say here, but I'll do that later if I remember...