A/N: Wow this is old… I started it what, last year sometime? I found it whilst cleaning up my writing folder and well, here you are. Have a dark Link and possessed Zelda kind-of-ship-fic, because my mind seems to think that they're perfect for each other. XD
The first time he saw her, he caught a mere glimpse of her in a mirror as he passed by it, following his master through his decrepit castle. His master was enraged by his failure to defeat the boy of light whose face he shared, and was sending him back to the world from whence he came – the world of shadow contained within the Dark Mirror. Cool, dark, beautiful shadow. He'd missed it.
They passed through a large room, the walls lined with mirrors that didn't reflect and paintings with surfaces that seemed to shimmer, and he saw her, from the corner of his eye.
Her skin was pale, with a slight green shade to it – sickly and dead looking, much like his own. Cracks ran through her porcelain visage; strange, geometric shapes that he all of a sudden wanted to trace with his fingers. Her eyes were a piercing gold, her face cold and restrained, and her long brown hair flowed down her back like blood down a hefted sword.
She saw his red eyes meet hers, and vanished into the depths of the mirror in a flash of violet cloth. He searched the surface of the mirror hungrily before his master realised he was gone and called out to him harshly, and he followed reluctantly, as ever he did; as ever he would, but the image of the girl stayed with him. Who was she? Why was she lurking in a palace mirror?
How could he see her again?
He did not come back to the world of light for eons, but the girl was always in his mind, lurking – strolling through his dreams with a graceful step, searching his eyes for the soul he did not have. She never spoke though, only looked with deep golden eyes that he fancied wondered the same things about him that he did of her. He wondered about her constantly, whether he was floating endlessly in shadow, or stalking the light world with purpose, searching for the boy whose face he had copied and dressed in emptiness, shadow, and blood.
He would never win against the boy, for he was, after all, only a shadow. One who lurked in the dark, watching and waiting to strike. His face changed over time, as did his light-world counterpart, but he was always a copy. He was the colour of ash, his white hair the colour of smoke, to counter the colour of life, green, that the boy wore. Their faces, if one put them side by side, were perfect copies – the one difference being that the boys was kind and open, and his was black as sin. Nothing was solely his.
Except, perhaps, the part of his mind that came back again and again to the image of the girl.
He knew now – she was like him, a copy of another being, the ghost of what once was. She was the memory of what the princess of Hyrule had once looked like, when his master had used her against her beloved hero. Except the princess, in his opinion, could not hold a candle to the girl's dark beauty, her sinister presence.
He didn't know how exactly to find her, but he had made up his mind. He would speak to her, and befriend her in a world that despised them. He would welcome her dark beauty, and revel in the source of evil that was her presence.
He waited centuries to do this. But oh-so patiently did he wait.
One day, after a particularly boring century when Hyrule had no need of a hero, and therefore evil had no need for his shadow, the Shadow Warrior decided to wander. As he swirled, incorporeal, in the void of shadow, he decided that the void would not miss him for a few minutes out of a century or so.
Still wearing the face of the last hero he'd opposed, he crafted himself from a mass of darkness and tumbled out of the Dark Mirror, landing with a only a half-corporeal thump on the floor of a room.
Shadow was comforting. Shadow was home. But it could also be boring and monotonous, and he needed escape from its cool embrace occasionally.
His feet making no sound on the floor, he stood, and looked around what should have been the room he usually manifested in every time he was summoned.
This time, however, it was a strange room – one that seemed as though it belonged in the castle of those ridiculous, light-loving Hylians. However, this room had been deliciously desecrated – blood streaked the floor, and wherever he looked, the only colours were purple and black. Wisps of smoke drifted upwards from the tiles, as though something had struck it violently and left a lasting imprint. There was a large window in one of the walls, however, the curtains that crossed it were torn, and it was thrown open to the half-moon light streaming through it.
Nothing to suggest a world of light, only one of beautiful shadow.
Perfect.
Shaking his white bangs out of his eyes, he stepped further into the room, the mirror behind him swirling to leave its face smooth and black. Red eyes roaming the room, he revelled in the darkness that seemed to seep through the very air itself, leaving no trace of light.
Well, almost no trace.
There, almost directly in front of him, almost entirely obscured by a curtain, was a mirror; another mirror. The little of it that showed through the curtain reflected the moonlight.
He moved closer, mentally comparing this mirror with his own.
The mirror was, in the fashion of the room, dark, and it reflected nothing but the image of the moon itself. And then, as he looked…
A pair of golden eyes.
His red eyes widened and he stepped back, only to be grasped by a slender hand that was stronger than it looked and dragged towards the surface of the mirror. There was a shock of cold, like slipping through the floor of that accursed Water Temple, and the feeling of being pushed through a very small space…
And then, suddenly, there was the cold press of a blade against his throat.
He opened his eyes, getting his bearings. He was in a perfect mirror image of the room he'd appeared in, facing the mirror he'd clearly come through, which reflected, as always, the fact that he had no reflection. He had no time to ponder much else as a pair of arms wrapped around him – one over his mouth, the other holding a blade that pressed a line of black against his throat.
"Who are you?"
The voice was high and feminine, but had a hint of harshness – that sword was perfectly poised to lower further, and though he couldn't die, it would still hurt. He shook his head and she moved her hand from his mouth, around his chest, holding him still.
"I am one like you. I'm a shadow of another, of a detestable creature from the world of light. We are very much alike."
The sword eased off a little. "Prove it."
He grinned.
"Very well."
With a quick exhale, he let go of his corporeal form, melting into a pool of shadow and blending with the others on the floor.
Slipping beneath her feet, he savoured her shock for a moment before rebuilding a solid body behind her.
She whirled to face him, surprise still evident on her face, and he chuckled.
"Did you really believe you could surprise me like that, princess?"
She tightened her mouth into a thin line, raising her sword towards him as he drew his own, the dark blade glinting maliciously in the reflected moonlight.
Her porcelain features set into a wicked grin.
"Not surprise, shadow warrior… but defeat, yes."
They both lunged, and a ferocious sword fight began, both of them whirling and parrying and doing what they did best – copying.
They were an equal match.
For each thrust, there was a parry, and for each whirl and slice, one was returned. His eyes flashed brighter with the exhilaration, and the cracks in her skin shimmered green when she smirked. It was like a deadly dance, in which a wrong move could mean death – and neither of them would prefer to play it any other way.
Eventually, they reached a stalemate. Her blade was pointed straight at his chest, whilst his was set towards her throat. They both nodded, backing away.
He sheathed his blade, and kneeling, grasped her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to its knuckles. She, in turn, pressed the other to her cheek in a show of embarrassment, and he smiled.
He was rising to his feet when he felt a sharp tug in his chest and heard the bellow of his master.
He was being summoned.
He scowled at the floor – could the fool have not waited for a few more minutes?
He looked back up at the dark princess, who looked a bit confused.
"My dear, I must fly. It has been most fun, and I look forward with excitement to our next meeting."
He stepped backwards towards the mirror, executing a bow as he did so. She smiled at him, her green skin seeming to shimmer in the moonlight.
"As do I, Shadow Warrior."
He put one foot through the mirror, looking back to grin at her with slightly fanged teeth.
She grinned back, almost girlishly, waving him off, and with a soft hiss, he vanished back to his own realm to do his masters bidding.
They may have been creatures of darkness.
But for once, if only for a few minutes, neither of them had meant any malice whatsoever.