Disclaimed.
…
Chapter Two: In Which The Resistance Makes A Friend
Once there was an angel, the guardian of a fair lady. He served her faithfully for many a long year.
But then he was locked away in penance for a crime he did not commit and was left to rot. When he was released, it was to aid the very people who had imprisoned him, and the lady who had done nothing to protect he who had stood by her his whole life. And he did; he fought back the demon that threatened and sacrificed his life to defend his lady. So he fell, and he died, and the lady wept too little too late.
Then there was a boy who lived on an island with a girl, and he followed her to a world of demons far below. He fought and fought for her, but she ran when he appeared, did not even speak with him, allowing another to protect her in his place. She used him, she told him this, but still he was loyal…
The demon returned and he fought it as well, but he won his fight and returned to the girl. She smiled and asked him to stay and build a kingdom with her, but once the kingdom was finished he ran. He fled far into the wilderness to hunt for something new and was never heard from again.
Then came another boy living in a forest, defended by a powerful guardian. Then the guardian was attacked and he went to the aid of a princess who sent him on a quest. He did his part, but found things getting worse the more he fought. And then he released an evil beast into a realm of light and forced him out again, and the princess sent him back to before his quest first started.
And then there was a farm boy living in a village that wasn't his by birth. He aided them for his whole life, and when things went bad he set off to find those taken from them and bring them home. In this way, he found himself drawn into a war. He fought a great evil and saved two realms, and then he returned home. But the village wasn't the same for him, and a year later, he returned to the field. He climbed a mountain, fought and died, and his spirit was locked away as an ancient demon returned to life.
And so the story comes to an end once more. But it's been said that a new hero will always rise when Hyrule needs them. So we'll just have to wait and see…
…
*~Thirteenth year of Demise's reign~*
*~Colin~*
The queen is dead.
We just got the news a few minutes ago. After thirteen years in hiding, Zelda has been caught and executed. Ashei told us; she had been there, and been charged with the duty of taking the queen's infant son to hide with King Ralis in the Zora's Domain until he's old enough to reclaim his throne.
Don't they know that's not how it works? The hero saves the kingdom and the heir takes over. But the hero is long dead, and even if there were a new one, according to Shad there can only be one at a time, so he'd be thirteen at most…
Ilia sighs, flopping down beside Telma. "What now? Without Zelda…"
"There must be a way," Shad murmurs. "I'm close to a breakthrough…"
He's been saying that for months. I don't think anyone believes him anymore. I'm not entirely sure anyone believes anything anymore, after so long without any hope…
It's time we changed to a happier topic. "I saw Ayla today," I say in what Talo has dubbed my 'This-is-not-good-let's-change-the-subject' voice. "She's doing well. Renado is taking good care of her and Mum."
"Oh, good," Telma says, allowing the change of subject. "Rusl will be pleased."
"How's Luda doing?" Shad asks. "Is Dr. Borville treating her well?"
I sigh. "As well as can be expected. At least it's a well-paying job."
A few years ago, Luda, having plenty of knowledge when it came to medical things, got a job at Dr. Borville's clinic. After all, even resistances need funding. She's doing well; between her, Malo and Telma's bar, we've got plenty of rupees. It's a strange thought; when this started, we were all children. Now we're running a rebellion.
Knock knock knock
The knocking is desperate, panicked. "Colin!" Luda's voice calls. "Open the door! Hurry!"
"Yeah!" Talo adds. His voice is strained. "You'd better move fast! We have a problem!"
It's Telma and Ilia who get up and run to the door. Ilia murmurs something very unusual for a lady. Telma hisses. "Bring him inside! Quickly!"
Him? I stand to see what's happening. "Holy Farore."
Talo's holding a boy in his arms; he's slender, almost wraithlike, with messy blond hair stained red and tan skin paled to almost white by blood loss. He's young, maybe fourteen or fifteen at most. Too young. There's blood dripping steadily from a deep looking wound across his abdomen.
"Set him down there," Telma directs, gesturing towards a wooden board off to one side. "Colin, fetch some bandages. Ilia, get the potions."
We burst into a frenzy of movement, gathering and prepping and aiding Ilia, Telma and Luda as much as we can as they do their best to save the boy. I end up holding his arms down as Luda stitches up his wounds. It's harder than I expected; he's thrashing wildly, and he's stronger than he looks. I wouldn't be surprised to find some sort of supernatural power at play.
In any case, we finish eventually, and Ilia fetches a blanket and drapes it over the boy. "I'll keep an eye on him," I offer quietly. "I can wake you if anything changes."
The others nod and traipse off with a chorus of goodnights. I shift closer, absently brushing the messy blond hair out of the boy's face. Looking closely, his features appear rather… feminine. It seems to fit the rest of his body, in a way. I sigh, pushing my chair back and settling down to wait.
It must be near the witching hour when I stir and glance over at the boy to see the figure crouched over him. I move to shout; the man—I think it's a man, anyway—looks up and shakes his head. I can't see his eyes, covered by the edge of the ragged cloak he wears, but his lips curl up into a wry smile.
He bows like an Ordonian would; back straight, not very pretty, but passable. There's something almost-mocking in the gesture. Then his lips part, and a voice like the rustle of dead leaves emerges.
"Missing your precious hero, boy?"
And he's gone, like he was never there to begin with.
…
*~?~*
Sky's singing again.
"…And the hero fell and the demon rose, but that's not how the story goes. So the hero rose and the demon fell, and then our story ended well."
"I don't think Light likes it when you sing that," I tell him. The spirit brushes against me, warm as a summer breeze.
"Light isn't here right now. What he doesn't know won't kill him."
"Nothing will kill him," Shade points out, wandering over to join us. "He's already dead." The poor dear never did understand sayings.
Sky says as much. The two of them degenerate into squabbling children. I ignore them, focusing instead on attempting to draw a mental image of my four stowaways.
I've only ever spoken to three of them separately; while they joined together when we first met, they split apart after I allowed them into my head. The fourth hasn't deigned to speak with me since. The others only refer to him as Elder, or sometimes First. But I know more about the others.
Sky is the oldest of the three. He's also pretty short, with brown hair. He's friendly enough to me. He also plays peacekeeper. A lot. Light and Shade get into a lot of fights, and they never listen to me.
Shade is the next oldest, and the tallest. He's got a ponytail. I don't think he likes me. Sky says it's because I remind him of someone. I think he's just an ass. And his attitude must've rubbed off on Light, because he doesn't like me either.
Light's the youngest. He's short; it's a common joke among the others. He's also the only one who can take on a physical form outside of my head, even though it is nearly transparent. And he's the rudest bastard you'll ever meet. Sky says he's sensitive. Shade usually then yells at him about losing the body, whatever that means. Then Light points out that Sky's the one who cursed the line, and Sky says he's never had fleas. Then the other two start yelling and I get a migraine.
In any case, it's hard to get specific descriptions of them. They do float around my head invisibly, after all. So even after five years, I've never actually seen them. I wouldn't mind, it's just… they are in my head.
"Don't whine so much." Light arrives in a gust of wind, nearly knocking me over.
Sky mutters something along the lines of "Bitter little brat."
"What was that?"
"Nothing." The older spirit takes his leave, and I start quietly praying to wake up before my tenant starts talking to me.
Of course, I couldn't possibly be that lucky.
"You should be more careful," Light mutters. "How am I going to find it if you get yourself killed?"
There he goes again. They've never actually told me what it is I'm supposed to be finding for them; all they've said is I'll know it when I see it. "It would make things a lot easier if you'd tell me what it is I'm looking for…"
The spirit sighs. "Not for me to say. Besides, it's… complicated."
"Literally every one of you has said it's not for him to say. How am I supposed to find something when I don't know what it is?"
"Stop complaining," the other replies. "You should be thanking me, you know. Even with the Resistance's aid, your wounds were mortal."
I frown. "I didn't know you were a healer."
"There are certain advantages to my… state of being." Evasive. He's always so evasive.
"One would think you'd prefer me dead. Much simpler to possess a dead body than to hide inside a living one." We've had this conversation before. I know what he'll say next.
"I would agree, if it weren't for the fact that we are not possession spirits. Possessing a body is darker magic than any of us were trained for… Except the Elder, possibly, but he refuses to teach us any of his tricks." For a second he sounds like a petulant child whose parents have refused to teach him swordplay.
"Darker?" I repeat. "You make it sound as though you were trained in some dark magic."
"Some, yes," he agrees. "It was a necessity, in… my line of work." Will he ever stop avoiding my questions?
Then again, this is the most any of them have ever told me about their lives. "Light, please. What am I looking for? The others keep talking about a body; we're not actually…"
Light hesitates. "You'll… know it when you see it," is all he says.
"If you are actually making me find you a body, I will slap you," I inform him. "I don't care that you don't have a physical form, I will slap you."
"We'll see," comes the reply. He hums thoughtfully. "I believe I'll leave you to sleep now. You'll wake soon enough."
"But-"
"Sweet dreams." There's a hesitant touch of a warm breeze against my shoulder, and then he's gone, leaving me with more questions than answers and the vaguest hint of a smile.
…
I drift into regular dreams then. Well, regular for me. When I sleep, my thoughts and memories, my hopes and fears mix with those of my boys—not that I'd ever call them that to their invisible faces—and create a twisted dreamscape, dark and bloody and full of faceless terrors. I know what it is to die, now. I've felt four different versions of it. Never anything specific, just enough to grasp the pain. None of them died easy. They took their enemies with them, for the most part. For the most part, though, I only get the vaguest of recollections.
Regret. Failure and agony greater than any I've felt.
Uncertainty. Lost, alone, betrayed and abandoned.
Fear. A lost child, not knowing where to turn.
Bitterness. A bone-deep weariness that can't be fought against.
Acceptance, too; the kind you feel when you're so tired of fighting you can't bear to go on. I know these emotions, of course, but when four others feel it so deeply, it's draining. I try to pull their thoughts and mine towards happier memories. Smiling faces and joyful calls, watching those they trained grow strong and brave. There's an undercurrent of grief, then, thinking of protégés long gone. These are old spirits, and most if not all of those they knew are dead.
But I can't help them. The names and faces float by too quickly for me to tell them apart, much less understand them. All I catch are glowing eyes, green hair, a warm smile… Faded images that flicker like a dying fire.
My eyes slide open and I sit up, ignoring the twinge of pain in my stomach at the motion. "Mm… Wha…?"
Movement on the left. I leap off the board I was laying on, hand reaching for a dagger that isn't there. I crouch, ready to run-
"Hey, hey. It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you." The man I'd noticed holds his hands up, blue eyes wide. "We found you bleeding outside and brought you here. Your stuff is just upstairs. Nothing to worry about." His voice reminds me of Light, a little; quiet and almost calming.
"Who are you?" I glance at him, calculating. "Why did you help me?"
"I'm Colin," he replies carefully. "I helped you because… well… you were bleeding out on our doorstep. What were we supposed to do, leave you?"
I shake my head. "No one just helps people in this day and age. Tell me the truth."
Footsteps on the stairs. Dammit… his friends are awake. If it comes to a fight, I'm in trouble.
"Colin?" a voice calls down. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" he replies. "Wait there for a minute, alright?"
I purse my lips, slipping towards the door. "You helped me. I'd rather not kill you."
"Unless you're working for the bastard who calls himself king, you won't have to try."
My eyes widen in realisation. "You're the Resistance, aren't you?"
My boys stir in curiosity, a wave of amusement floating off them. 'Trust them,' comes Light's opinion. The others agree.
"Yes," Colin murmurs. "Yes, we are."
I smile. "Well then, sir, it appears we're on the same side."
…
*~Colin~*
His eyes are red.
They're blood-fucking-red.
I hold up my hands, eyes wide. "Hey, hey. It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you. We found you bleeding outside and brought you here. Your stuff is just upstairs. Nothing to worry about." The way he's looking at me reminds me of Link when he first met Renado and Barnes. Wary, suspicious, slightly nervous. Edging into the realm of uncertainty. The boy seems more paranoid than justly worried, though. To be fair, he's grown up in a war zone. And I imagine that look is common in warriors.
"Who are you?" he asks, still crouched and tense. "Why did you help me?"
"I'm Colin," I reply, trying to make myself as nonthreatening as possible. "I helped you because… well… you were bleeding out on our doorstep. What were we supposed to do, leave you?"
He shakes his head, eyes narrowed. "No one just helps people in this day and age. Tell me the truth." His voice rises slightly towards the end. It sends a pang of sadness through me; no one this young should be so distrustful.
Footsteps sound from above. Someone's up, probably woken by the sound of voices when the bar's closed. "Colin?" Luda calls. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" I call back quickly. "Wait there for a minute, alright?" She doesn't answer, but I know she understands.
The boy purses his lips, edging away from me towards the door. "You helped me," he murmurs. "I'd rather not kill you."
"Unless you're working for the bastard who calls himself king, you won't have to try."
Red eyes open wide. "You're the Resistance, aren't you?" he breathes. Something flickers in his gaze. Is it my imagination, or does the faintest hint of violet appear?
"Yes," I murmur, deciding to ignore it. "Yes, we are."
He smiles. It makes him seem years younger. "Well then, sir, it appears we're on the same side." He settles down cross-legged on the board he's been laying on since he got here. "Well met."
I flop back into my chair. "I should call the others down. If you don't mind…?"
He tilts his head in acquiescence, ignoring my silent question. "Feel free." He leans back, running a hand through messy blond hair. "Ask them to bring my things, please."
"Right." I turn to shout up the stairs. "You can come down now! Bring our guest's things, will you?"
And then we wait, this mystery boy and I. We don't speak. Those red eyes never look away from me. I'm not sure he even blinks, unless he's synchronising it to my own blinking. I can't help but wonder where he learned to do that. I can feel his stare even when I look away.
"Oh! You're awake!"
The boy turns away to look at Ilia, red eyes assessing her and then glancing away to watch the stairs. When Telma arrives, carrying the bundle containing his gear, he leans forward, waiting impatiently for her to put it down beside him. Then he turns away, sliding various things into hidden pockets, before turning back to us, holding a delicate lyre.
"Hello," he says calmly. There's a general chorus of responding greetings.
"I've never seen a Hylian with red eyes before," Shad comments. Ashei smacks him.
The boy just smiles pleasantly. "Well, Shad, that's because I'm not Hylian."
The scholar glances at me. "You told him our names?"
I just shake my head, mystified. The boy laughs softly. "I do my research. I know all your names; it's matching them to your faces that's the problem."
"Really?" Talo asks. "What's my name, then?"
The boy frowns, glancing upwards. "…Talo."
"Wow."
As impressive as it is, I'm sick of this little game he's playing. "It hardly seems fair. You know all our names, but we don't know yours."
The boy smiles, red eyes sliding shut for a moment. "Ah, he was right. You're correct, it's hardly fair that I have such an advantage." He leans forward, eyes meeting mine. He's testing my will; trying to make me look away. I wait. After a minute he chuckles warmly.
"Very well. My name is Sheik."
