A/N: Oh, come now! Shouldn't you people know this already? D: I'm not Valve. No, I'm not Nintendo, either. AND AS SUCH, I DON'T OWN ANY OF THIS. -cries-

On a shinier note, this was beta'ed by the wonderful Kathryn Shadow. ^_^

From Dusk 'til Dawn

2

Wounded Worlds

There is no way out or round or through…It is the end.

—H.G. Wells

Ilia rubbed foreheads with Epona. By Farore, she was a sweet horse. The young girl had to wonder sometimes how Link could bear to overwork the majestic mare, or cause her injury. Epona didn't seem to mind much, though, so Ilia usually let it slide. Sometimes, though, he just went too far, and she needed to chastise him. A small smile danced on her mouth. Other times, she just felt a need to give him trouble. The mare seemed to hear the human's thoughts, and let out what sounded very similar to an amused snort. Ilia laughed back.

"You think he deserves it, too, huh?" she grinned.

Epona paused and then shook her head.

"Oh, come on," Ilia said with mock exasperation. She took a step back, Ordon Spring's water sloshing around her ankles, and placed her hands on her hips. "You know he does."

If Epona had eyebrows, she most certainly would have raised them in the most dubious manner possible. Ilia sighed.

"He doesn't let you rest, and he attacks cuccoos for no apparent reason!"

Epona let out a noncommittal sound that Ilia wasn't entirely sure how to classify. The mayor's daughter rolled her eyes melodramatically and shook her head.

"You agreed with me more when you were a foal," she said. "Oh, well." Ilia bent down and ran her hand up the horse's strong legs, checking for any sign of further carelessness on Link's part. After she determined that, for once, Link had been a good boy and done nothing harmful to the faithful mare, Ilia stood back up. "Ready to head back, Epona?"

The horse snorted an affirmation, and Ilia began to lead her back to Ordon, speaking softly to her animal companion as they walked.

"So," Ilia said. "Father's been acting…odd these past three days. Especially tonight, at supper. He kept chuckling for no reason and when I asked why he'd just wink. I'm getting a bit annoyed, Epona. I don't like it when people keep secrets, and I'm sure it's not just some new joke Rusl told him, or anything like that. Any thoughts?" The mare refused to voice an opinion. Ilia shrugged and continued. "I guess we'll just find out when we find out, huh?"

Ilia's mouth continued to wander, but luckily her feet knew the way back to town. The children ran around like the monkeys they antagonised, as usual, while the adults finished the very last of the day's work. Uli lit lanterns and torches, her baby daughter happily dozing in inside the sling across her mother's back, and her son, Colin, helping Uli in any way he could. The blond boy quickly noticed Ilia, and waved energetically, a broad grin on his soft, round face. Ilia grinned back and waved in reply.

"Link's still at the ranch," Colin called.

"Thanks," Ilia replied.

Colin bobbed his head, blond locks bouncing up and down his forehead. He returned to helping his mother, while Ilia headed for the ranch with Epona.

~—~

Link slowly walked out of the stable, a frown etched into his brow. Who was that merchant? Why did he have the symbol of the goddesses on his pack? How had he vanished like that? Link massaged his forehead and wished his experiences with dark magic had ended after the death of Ganondorf. Just when he thought his life had gone back to being peaceful—

"Link?"

Ilia! Link felt his spirits rise, and he let his brooding thoughts vanish faster than even the merchant had. He ran up the hill and embraced her. He could hear an oof bound from her mouth as he enfolded her in his arms, but only a second later her own arms were wrapped around his neck and her head nestled into his shoulder. Link inhaled through his nostrils; the lavender scent of Ordon's healing spring lingered in the strands of Ilia's golden-brown hair.

"Hello to you, too," Ilia laughed, voice muffled by the fabric of his tunic.

"Mm," Link replied, burying his nose in her hair. He heard an equine snort—of course Ilia had brought Epona along.

Amused, are you? he thought, wishing for a moment that he was in his wolf body so he could speak to the mare directly.

Link and Ilia stood that way, his hands pressed gently against her back and hers against his neck, for what may or may not have been an eternity. He inhaled the scent of her hair; she inhaled that of his tunic. Ilia's delicate fingers trailed up and brushed through the slightly sweaty dirty-blond locks that peeked out from underneath his long cap. Life was good.

The sound of explosions crashed in the distance.

…Life may not have been so great after all.

~—~

After several long, grueling hours of electrocution and multiple blows to various already-bruised areas of his body, the prisoner was alone again. His captors had discovered his latest successful attempt at removing himself from their clutches, and had futilely tried to determine what he had gotten up to during his brief period of "freedom". He did not appreciate being pestered about what he did on his…field trips, thank you very much. It was their fault for not looking after him when they let him see the sun. Anyhow, it wasn't as if he was stupid enough to leave any evidence to support his captors' theories. He was better than that.

He noted dully that the bars surrounding the spatiotemporal micro-prison—why had his people never thought to abbreviate that, anyway? —had begun to sink into their sockets beneath the floor. Ah, they were letting him exercise. The electrodes pulled away from his scalp with an acute sting the prisoner deemed highly unnecessary after all the abuse he had already suffered. The prison's light faded and its antigravity controls switched off. The prisoner promptly fell to the floor with a painful thunk as his knees connected with cold steel.

Without the insulation of his micro-prison holding, absorbing, and reusing his own body heat, which elevated the temperature within the prison with each passing hour, the prisoner instantly felt the cold of the outer chamber hit him like a strike to the face. A rebellious shiver shook his emaciated body, and his semi-atrophied muscles refused to lift him from the floor. He shivered where he had landed, in a crumpled, degraded heap on the floor. His mind screamed obscenities in obscure tongues, cursing his captors for doing this to him.

Ye gods, he hadn't realised how little he had consumed on his last trip to the outside. Funnily enough, sites of massive explosions didn't have many great restaurants in the surrounding areas. Had he been part of the redesigning of that miserable planet, he would've at least put a small sandwich shop near the massive tower. His lower organs bemoaned their emptiness at an uncomfortably high volume. The prisoner had no doubt that his captors had heard the sound—there were miniscule cameras in every area surrounding his, ah, quarters.

He had long ago learned all the blind spots.

Aha. Sure enough, only a moment after his gut made its complaint, a clear tube snaked out of the wall in front of the prisoner, end capped with a steel dome. A groan crawled out of his throat as he extended an arm to begin his journey to sustenance. Pulling himself along and feeling very caterpillar-like, the prisoner eventually made his way to the hose-like apparatus. He lifted a shaky hand, undid the latch on the dome, which opened the end of the tube, and pulled it to his mouth. Cracked, dry lips wrapped around the rim, and he waited impatiently for—gagh!

A half-liquid concoction of necessary proteins and nutrients spewed into his mouth and down his throat, choking him for a moment. He swallowed greedily, ignoring the slimy texture and sour taste. The "soup" slid down his esophagus and into his waiting innards, and he could hear the thwup of the foul stuff hitting the bottom of his empty stomach, sloshing against the walls with every swallow.

His tongue rejoiced when the last of the fluid slid down his rapacious throat, while his still-dissatisfied gut choked back a digestive sob. Feeling considerably less weak, the prisoner unlatched his mouth from the tube, licked his lips, and stood. Had anyone in the complex been paying attention, they would have noticed a sudden departure of the prisoner from the chamber's cameras. He slipped into a blind spot, knelt down, and closed his eyes.

His hands traced abstract square patterns in the air, while his mouth moved silently, whispering words of a tongue eons forgotten by the ears of most races. The prisoner shoved the grim nostalgia that spread through his mind back into the corner, where it belonged.

Dead.

They were all dead.

The screams….

The pain….

Good grief, the wretched itching.

The prisoner paused in his work to adjust the thin bands around his wrists, sliding them further up his arms so they would stop causing his hands to itch, and resumed. The memories had almost been erased just before his captors had finally deemed his brainwashing over. Almost. But as soon as the procedures and reverse-therapy sessions had ended, his mind had begun to scream again. And now, years upon years upon centuries after he had completed the last stage of his mourning, after ages of training his mind to absorb the chill of indifference, here he was, with the wretched memories still alive and raging in his head.

More than anything, his arms remembered the feel of comrades' corpses; the weight of them as he laid them to their final rest before departing for his new life in bondage. His feet remembered those last shackled steps away from his home. The fires that had ravaged his planet still burned in the back of his mind.

~—~

Elon yawned and shifted his helmet so that it sat at least somewhat more comfortably on his head. His shield tugged down heavily on his arm, and his armour was far too large for him. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, wondering how many of his fellows were secretly snickering at him behind their hands.

Hand-me-downs, he thought bitterly. Elon wished his older brother, Kel, wasn't so blasted beefy. The elder was more than two heads taller than the younger, and his shoulders a good handbreadth wider on each side.

The young guard rubbed his itching nose with the back of his spear arm and, upon noticing that his captain was looking at him with raised eyebrows, promptly saluted with vigour. Satisfied that the Elon was in fact paying attention to his surroundings, the greying captain nodded gruffly and continued patrolling the grounds. Elon let out a small sigh of relief.

He sometimes wished that he had joined the guards a few years ago, when actually exciting events occurred around the castle. Kel had been part of the guard back then, and had seen the creatures from the darkness enter the gates and barge into Her Majesty's throne room. Naturally, Kel had been in hiding when the creatures entered, but he had seen it, and never hesitated to exclaim about it if anyone came anywhere close to asking. Elon had eaten up those words of terror and excitement, and had entered the guards as soon as he was old enough, just to get a taste of that thrill. Kel, who had in fact been ejected on charges of extreme cowardice, had happily given his little brother the ill-fitting armour.

Naturally, anything even close to excitement had died within the first few months of his entry. He hadn't even gotten to see Her Majesty's coronation. Elon sighed again. Life just had to get boring as soon as it got exhilarating, didn't it?

A rumble shook the ground. Elon clutched his spear, bending his knees to lower his centre of gravity. Sweet Din, an earthquake! Elon's heart pounded behind his sternum, equal parts terror and elation racing through him. The only problem was that he didn't know how to deal with an earthquake. They just didn't happen often enough in Hyrule for his parents to feel a need to inform him of…well, anything. His captain barked orders at everyone, saying that their first priority was their duty to protect the Queen. He sent a dozen soldiers to the throne room to see after the safety of Her Majesty.

Elon's heart leaped as he heard his name called out as part of the twelve.

He and his eleven fellows—only two of which he knew by name, but he could sort that out later—rushed in practiced formation to the inside of the castle, navigating its winding corridors and staircases with well-trained feet. Elon's helmet bounced against his head, but he neither noticed nor cared. He was thrilled beyond words or thought.

The throne room was vast, and out in the open air. Central Hyrule's year-long mild climate allowed for the centre of government to be at the top of a castle, in a room without windows, and thick curtains could be dropped in the event of heavy rain. High above the actual throne, stone figures of the three great goddesses, Din, Farore, and Nayru, encircled the granite block in the shape of three stacked triangles, clutching the structure protectively. Elon swallowed, looking up at the three goddesses reverently.

Below the stony gaze of the holy triad was the throne, and on it sat the head of Hyrule's government. Queen Zelda's expression was one of deep concentration and mild irritation.

"The captain sent you all up here to protect me, then?" she said, a smirk lightening her grim countenance.

A tall guard—Elon thought his name was Caid or something like that—stepped forward. "That is correct, my lady."

The Queen chuckled. "I can defend myself, but I do not turn down assistance. Tell me, what do you think is happening out there?"

"A—an earthquake, my lady," Elon piped up, voice small and pitiful in comparison to his companion's low, rumbling tones.

"And what gives you cause to think so?" Queen Zelda inquired.

"…The ground is shaking beneath our feet, my lady," Elon replied, confused. "What else could it be?"

"It is not the ground that shakes," the Queen corrected. "It is the sky."

Here the entire collection of guards either blinked in bafflement, tilted their heads, or allowed their jaws to drop.

"Did you think to look up when you felt the tremors?"

None of the guards could say they had.

"Kindly do so."

Elon was the first to dart to the outside and stare into the skies. He trembled and felt his knees go weak. As he fell, unashamed but starkly terrified, to his knees, he whispered a fearful prayer to the goddesses.

Raging in the sky, as far as the eye could see, was a massive thunderstorm, the likes of which Elon had never seen in his life. Thunder rumbled, lightning crashed from the angry grey clouds, and a whirlpool of light surrounded each bolt as it struck the ground. There was no rain, but there was noise. So much noise. Each strike of the strange lightning caused a deep rumble in the ground, and those rumbles rattled the bones of everyone in the throne room.

"That's not normal," whispered one of Elon's comrades.

"Indeed it is not," Queen Zelda said softly. "The nature of this storm concerns me deeply. I have never seen anything of its kind, and although I've sent several scribes to search our records to see if our history has seen such, I highly doubt they will find anything." She stepped up behind the twelve, and Elon could hear her thin sword scrape gently along the stone floor. She sighed. "Do any of you have any possible idea what this is?"

A/N: If anyone's confused about the queenliness of our dear Zelda, there was evidently a set of…cards, I think it was? Anyway, there was a second, non-game source that is in fact considered canon, which I learned about through the magic of Zeldapedia, which states that around the time that Twilight Princess was set, Zelda was only a few days away from being crowned queen. Considering this is two years post-TwiPri... well, you know. Three cheers for Queen Zelda!

Oh, and...erm...the next chapter is...nyergh. -curls into a ball-