One

I'm not sure why I'm doing this. It's not like it'll even matter in this world I'm in now, in this world where the situation has been changed so thoroughly that the initial event was stopped, even if the outcome, the shattering, still somehow happened...

Maybe I'm just doing this because it's starting to not feel real. But I know that it was. My unchanging body is proof of that. My mandate...

I don't even know where to start. Where does this story begin? Not with me, I think.

I think the story really begins with the Triforce. What it can do, what it can cause, and what it has caused.

Hyrule is a pretty war-torn country. Everyone wanting the Triforce, but also the forces that want to protect it. I'm still waiting for the Sages to be born; we have to move the Temple of Time to a safer place, to a place where people can't reach it, or the sword, easily. Attached to the castle's town as it is currently, it's just begging to have events repeat indefinitely.

Events that I never would have been involved in, if not for my big mouth.

There's so many words I have about this. I don't really think I have a lot of coherency, but I have to try, I have to get this down if I want to have someone understand why this is all so personal to me. The Triforce, the Hero, the Princess, the Enemy...

All right. Let's skip over the Triforce legends. Whoever's reading this no doubt knows what they are, so rehashing them all would be pointless. We'll start, then, with the Gerudo.

My people are nomadic by nature. The desert has been ours, always, with only the mildest of ties to Hyrule. Mostly just the pass, and the fact that there are many available Hylian males with which my people have mated.

Common legend and lore will tell you that this is because my tribe only consists of females, with one male born every century. According to law, that lone male will be elected as our king.

That's only half right. The truth is a lot harsher, a lot darker, and I never did learn how it became tradition. Yes, we tend towards bearing more girl babies than boys, but boys are not vanishingly rare. Boys... boys are killed. If they're not the first one born after the death of the previous king, they are not allowed to survive.

Some do anyways. Gerudo mothers are just the same as other mothers; we defend our babies with our lives in many cases. Well, maybe not like all other mothers. Our choices are let the boy be given to the desert or leave the tribe.

For us, the tribe is life. The desert may be ours, but it is a harsh, unforgiving place. The sun strips away moisture, and the moon freezes the air. You have to be strong, harsh, and hardy to survive, among other traits. Stubborn was definitely one of them.

But without the tribe, there is danger. Hylians were not huge fans of Gerudo. We had to steal from them to ensure our survival, and while enticing men was definitely the way to go to get babies, to continue our tribe's life would continue, we didn't generally consider love from outside sources. Our love came from within, from the mothers, aunts, sisters, and cousins that we shared our lives with, that we trained with, that had our backs.

We were not a large group; Gerudo generally number between two and three-hundred women at most, and one king. That's the most our life in the desert, and stealing from over the border, could sustain. But... it wasn't a bad life. It was hard, it was challenging, it was frustrating at times, but it wasn't... bad. We lived, we had our seasonal celebrations, we had our own languages, stories, songs, and skills. You haven't really learned how to ride a horse unless a Gerudo has taught you. Same with shooting a bow. We even had our own individual magical skills, a far cry from the way Hylians use magic.

Yes, I am talking up my tribe. Because we're gone now, and it's mostly my fault we are. The other part is that asshole's fault... but in this world, in this time...

That's a different story, though. A different layer of guilt that I don't want to think about right now.

So.

Let's go back to how this all started.

My big mouth.

I won't deny it. I'm opinionated. Even as a child, raised among my sisters and cousins, I tended towards speaking my mind more than most. I was honest, because there was no reason to lie, and I was loud. I was also... to put it kindly, different. And not just because I blew up the equipment my people use to test for magical ability, though that certainly didn't help.

My coloring is lighter than a typical Gerudo. My skin, my hair... Showing more of the Hylian heritage than my sisters and cousins.

My hair is more orange than red, and if I spend enough time out in the sun, it gains streaks of true blonde. My skin is a paler brown that can be darkened with exposure to the sun, but it was noticeable when I was in the group of girls. My eyes, amusingly enough, are a darker gold. The color of amber, or honey, instead of bright buttercup yellow.

All of this was noticeable. Most of the time, it was so thoroughly ignored that I never felt any different. Sometimes it was remarked upon in complimentary ways, ways that made me feel happy. I didn't mind standing out, not then. I reveled in it, as only a child can. I wasn't doted on, not really, but all of us girls were the future, and we were everything to the tribe.

It's funny. I can look on it now, having finally actually been part of the tribe, having experienced what I didn't have the first time around, and realize that we were not necessarily a good people, but we weren't cruel either. Survival took place over all else, but in layers under that was love that was strong and fierce.

It was that love that saved my life.

When I was eight, my mother—and yes, we know our mothers, even being raised communally as we were—became pregnant again. A younger sibling for me was very exciting, as some of my friends also had little sisters. Sometimes they were annoying little sisters, but family was family, and we put up with all of them. Watching my mother change, knowing that someday, I might be the one with the big belly and new daughter... it was exciting.

It was... until my magic told me something different.

As children, we never asked why there was only girls. It was accepted as fact because it's what we were told. Ganondorf had been born some twenty years before, and was our king at the time, and our lives were subtly more prosperous than they had been before; at least, that was what the other adults said.

I made the mistake of opening my mouth while in the huge gathering; I had just come from another lesson in horseback archery, my favorite things at the time, and had been so excited about my successes—a dozen bullseyes with twenty arrows, a new record for me—that I had hugged her tightly.

Magic, when it's first manifesting, can cause some strange things. In Zelda, it's always caused prophetic dreams, a subtle sort of intuition that she has used, both in the past, and the current time, to help navigate rather dangerous historical moments. In me...

A knowing. Sharp and firm. I've always been able to know who I could trust with a secret, and who would have the biggest mouth, but this knowing was different. I knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that I was going to be big sister to a baby boy.

Being only eight at the time, not realizing that this should have been said when it was just me and my mother, I asked the first question that came to mind.

"Is the king going to die soon?"

My mother stared at me as silence rippled outward, then laughed awkwardly, causing others to laugh more genuinely.

"No, of course not, Raiha," she said, no doubt seeing that their laughter was annoying me. "That's a strange question. Our king is strong and healthy, and will live for many many more years!"

"But..." I sat on the bench when she pointed, obedient, despite my big mouth. "If the king isn't going to die soon, then why am I going to have a baby brother?"

The silence that fell this time was deafening. It was like I had stolen the voices of every woman there, and it was oppressive enough that I shrank down on the bench. My mother had gone very pale, as had a few of my aunts, and all of them were sharing looks that suggested I had done something wrong.

"That's nonsense dear," my mother finally said, patting my head with a shaking hand. "I'm going to give you a little sister."

"But-"

"Hush. We'll tell her this story when she gets older, and she'll call you a big silly head."

"But!"

"Raiha," this was one of my aunts, giving me a fierce look. "That's enough girl. Eat your supper."

There wasn't much to be done for it. I sulked, but I obeyed, and slowly, talk resumed around me. There was an air to it, however, that left me feeling afraid. It was forced chatter, forced laughter... and my mother didn't fully regain her color.

Indeed, when it was time to return to our room in the compound—built snug against the hills as protection from invasion and sandstorms both—she seemed afraid. Even as a child I could see it. After an hour of her flitting around the room, dropping curtains and closing doors, she finally turned back to me, and crouched to be more on my level.

"You're certain about that, sweetheart?" she asked quietly. "A boy?"

I nodded.

"He said so," I told her not understanding why this was a bad thing. "Mama, what's wrong?"

She had started crying, silent tears that spoke to me of a deep grief.

"Little one, we have a king," she said quietly. "We don't need another one..."

"But he'd be my brother, not a king," I protested, confused.

My mother just shook her head, and sat on the stool near our low table. I was, technically speaking, too old to climb into her lap—not to mention there wasn't a lot of room for me, considering the size of her belly—but I did it anyways, and she hugged me as she cried.

I didn't know then that she was planning to leave. My mother knew how to keep a secret.

The next two weeks passed without incident, though things were somewhat more subdued around the compound, uncertain silences following both my mother and me wherever we went. Slowly, things began appearing in our room, things my mother would need for the journey to Hyrule, things I would need to survive in a land I had only heard rumors about.

I was not necessarily the smartest child. I didn't understand what was happening until it did.

When we finally left, it was secretly, in the middle of the night. My mother had drugged my food to avoid me waking up in the middle of the event and ruining the planning, so I knew nothing from the time I went to sleep until I woke in a room I didn't recognize, with the sounds of the market filtering in through a shuttered window.

The room, when I sat up blearily to look around, was small in comparison to what I would occupy as a house now. But it was bigger than the room at the compound, and for a moment, I was in awe, though the awe was quickly replaced by confusion. I didn't recognize the sounds, and the air was... damp. Cooler than I thought air could get without the biting chill of a desert night.

I stayed in the bed for a while, and just studied the room. It was an open room, more or less. The bed I was in was tucked near a large fireplace that would keep the room warm when it rained—something I found shocking the first time I experienced it—and there was a small table and stool in the middle. Near the bed was a chest that I learned held clothing, and near the table were a handful of cupboards that held food that wouldn't spoil any time soon, as well as dishes and things that would make cooking less of a chore.

When I eventually pulled myself out of the bed, I wrapped the blanket around me and made my way to the table where I found a letter pinned under a cup. It was from my mother.

I am sorry. I couldn't leave you there, but I cannot take you with me any farther than this. You are in Hyrule, my daughter. In the town at the foot of the royal castle itself. It is the only place where you might have a chance at surviving to grow up.

Raiha... your brother would not be allowed to live. Only one male Gerudo is born every century, after all. But I want to keep this baby, because he will be my son. Unfortunately, to do this, I cannot remain with our people. You'll understand when you're older, or maybe you won't. I always thought I would...

This house is a safe place for you. We do not willingly walk onto the grounds around the Temple of Time, but you, my daughter, will probably be safest here. Be careful. Though I have chosen to leave you here, the reputation of the Gerudo means that you will not be well liked. Cover your hair, and try to avoid going out in the brightest lights. I know you have only begun learning how to steal, and if I had a choice...

If I can, little one, someday your brother and I will come for you. Until then, you need to survive. Keep your head down, never take more than you need, and never approach another Gerudo.

I have it on good authority that the girls who are to be trained in our ancient magics are really sacrifices to the longevity of our king's mothers, and I will not have that be your fate.

I love you, Raiha.

Most of it, I didn't understand. Not really. She had left me here, in a place I knew nothing about, with skills that I had only just started developing, and chosen to take herself and my unborn brother away to a place where I could not follow. It felt, then, like betrayal more than sacrifice.

To be fair, I was eight. I had no idea of the deeper meanings to our traditions, and I had no way of understanding that she had just saved my life.

I never wanted revenge. I wanted her to come back, yes. I wanted her to be with me, I wanted to meet my baby brother. But I never wanted revenge. I just wanted to go home.

For all the longing and all the desire I had, I stayed as she had bid me. What else was I to do? I didn't know the way back to the desert, and even if I had, a lone Gerudo makes for easy prey. I learned that lesson quickly, and soon was going out only after covering my hair, and wrapping a muslin strip around my eyes. Most people thought I was blind when I did that, or suffered from some sort of light sensitivity.

Really, it was just an effort to prevent more bruising. My mother had been right; the Gerudo reputation was definitely not a good one in this city. But because the city was so large, I could easily slip into and out of crowds, picking up five rupees here, a twenty there, and sometimes I would get extremely lucky and have enough not just to eat, but to play the archery game that was in the main market square.

The house I lived in was close to the Temple of Time, and as my mother had said—and I observed—Gerudo tended to avoid it. I didn't entirely understand why myself; the grounds just felt like ground, and the interior of the temple was peaceful. I often escaped into it, hiding in a corner and soaking up the peace of the place. It was, for the most part, my own personal haven. Gerudo weren't the only ones who avoided the temple. In truth, almost no one entered.

Despite this, it was always clean. I never entirely understood, but then, I was just young enough to accept that it was the way it was, and that was enough. Of course, I was Gerudo enough to be utterly scandalized, at first, at how much water these people wasted. A fountain, of all things, in the center of town.

Remembering now makes me smile.

I learned wary caution; not everyone my age was a sister. Not everyone older than me would look out for me. Looking out for myself wasn't easy, but in the two years I lived there, I managed it. I befriended—barely—a handful of children around my age. One was Malon, the daughter of the rancher who delivered milk to the castle on a regular basis. Her red hair made me feel a kinship with her, and she never seemed to mind the accent, the dark skin, or the fact that I hid my eyes.

She was a kind girl, really. Cheerful, and almost always singing, she taught me more about the Market and how it worked than I would have learned just by observations. Sure she had some silly fantasies—being rescued by a prince was just strange to me—but by being her friend, I also got to continue riding horses. Her father had offered—and I had considered—to let me live with them on their ranch as playmate and helper, but ultimately I was just a visitor, and I had come to rather like the bustling activity of the Market. While the people weren't all family, the chatter was comforting.

The other person I could call a true friend, I had made entirely by accident. Generally when Princess Zelda went to the Market, there was usually fanfare and fawning, and the princess dressed up like it was some sort of festival or party. There was also more guards than usual, making it difficult to pick pockets for the money I would need to have food for the day.

This day was different. There were no extra guards, there wasn't even Impa, the Sheikah woman who would later become my teacher for some very specific skills. Instead, there was a young blond girl walking around, blue eyes taking in the sights around her as though she was from out of town. She was dressed nicely, of course, but a far cry from the royal gowns that she would normally wear.

I saw a tourist. Easy mark, easy money. She wasn't even trying to hide the pouch that would contain her money. If I'd wanted to, I could have stolen then entire thing, quick as a blink, and never looked back, but I didn't want to be that noticeable. I just wanted enough that I wouldn't have to do this for a few days.

I touched the pouch, and froze as my magic told me the truth of who this girl was. Or maybe it was the Ocarina in the pouch. Either way...

She was a year older than me at best, but that didn't stop me from grabbing her by one wrist—much to her surprise—and pulling her off in the direction of the Temple of Time. I wasn't angry, I was afraid. Which, naturally, made me rather snappish.

"Are you nuts?" I finally demanded once we were in a safe place. "You shouldn't be here!"

She gave me a bewildered look, then stared as I yanked off the strip of muslin, wincing a little at the bright sunlight flooding into the temple. I didn't bother with the hat; my eyebrows were orange enough to give away my race if nothing else.

"You are either the most reckless person I've ever met—and that says a lot because my cousins once climbed to the top of the compound and jumped off to test their landing skills—or you have absolutely zero idea how vulnerable you actually are on your own!" I snapped. "Do you have any idea how fast someone our size can get snatched off the streets? Especially without that freaky white-haired lady that watches your back!"

She blinked at me, repeatedly, and I made a frustrated noise.

"That... that was the point, though," she protested after a minute. "I cannot come here on my own, and I... I wished to see what it was like without everyone knowing who I was..."

I muttered a few words that most children my age didn't know, which made her eyes go wide.

"Look," I said with exaggerated patience, "you're the princess, so you probably don't get this, but kids vanish real easy here, okay? Especially kids that are on their own, who look like they have money. Ransom is the least of it, and that's if they figure out you're too valuable to use!"

"How do you...?"

"Because I live down here, Princess. Your city isn't always a great place." I paused, then thought about the question. "Or do you mean how did I tag you?"

"...both, I suppose?"

"Iunno. I just... knew," I shrugged a little and looked away. "It happens like that sometimes. I just.. know, and stuff."

Zelda was quiet for several minutes, but she looked more thoughtful than upset.

"Can you show me how to blend in? I would like to come to the city on my own, but if you are correct, and this is not as safe a place as I believed..."

I blinked. Then snorted.

"I am so not the person you wanna talk to about something like that. I can't blend in. I can only hide what's obvious about me, and even that doesn't really work..."

"Because you're Gerudo?"

I shrugged, then nodded.

"Yeah. Your people don't really like my people."

"Your people steal from my people," Zelda countered.

"My people live in a desert. Your lands are lush and full of everything we don't have," I retorted. "You guys have water to waste for Din's sake! Our water comes from the valley falls, if we're lucky!"

I had surprised her with this admission, and she looked like she was torn between uncertainty and pity. I just groaned and scrubbed at my face. I really just wanted her to go away by that point, she was stressing me out, and making me think of my people, the people I missed so much that there were entire days where I wanted to scream.

"...you are correct, there seems to be many things I do not yet understand," she said finally. "But I would like to understand them..."

"Yeah, good luck with that," I muttered waspishly. "You don't live like we do. You have a safe home, a thousand guards, people to do anything you want. The likelihood of you actually getting it is nil."

I had meant the words to sting. I could see that they did, but Zelda had poise and control even then. Instead of yelling back as pretty much any other kid I knew would have—yes, even Malon, though she understood what it was to work hard—she reached out and caught up my hand. I nearly jumped out of my skin in surprise.

"Again, you are correct. But I would like to try. I do not want to rule a kingdom where other children can tell me that they live in fear of being harmed, or have to steal to survive. I would like, if it is possible, for the alliances my father has with the people in Hyrule to extend to those who live outside of it."

Most of it went over my head. But I got the feeling again, that knowing. She was sincere in her desire; she wanted to be a good princess, and someday, a good queen.

After a moment I sighed, and pulled off my hat so I could scratch my head.

"You're weird," I finally told her, as she stared more at my hair than she did at my face. "And kinda dumb. But I guess you're not that bad. Dunno what help I could be though; I'm just a kid too..."

She smiled at me, and I felt my heart do a funny flip in my chest. It was such an honest, open smile that I couldn't help but feel awkward, even at that age. Zelda is a charmer when she wants to be. Always.

"What is your name?" she , wait, hold on, I never agreed t-"

"...Raiha," I said after a moment.

"Rai...ha... That's a nice name. You may call me Zelda. If I am to not be a noble," she said before I could protest. "If I am to act as a normal child for however long I can, being called 'princess' would give me away, yes?"

"Wait, wait, hold on, I never agreed t-"

"Come! You can play games with me, until Impa comes to fetch me~"

Zelda was a bit of a force of nature. Despite my protests, she pulled my out of the temple, out into broad daylight. She did, at least, have the grace to wait while I put my hat back on, but she refused to let me put the muslin back over my eyes. Instead, she dragged me around the market, passing up the rupees to play the games, and buy the food.

It was probably the most fun I'd had in the year I'd lived there. Bombchu bowling, playing as many rounds of the archery game as I wanted—she wasn't the best shot, but she learned quick enough—playing a treasure hunting game... For a while, I even forgot that I was supposed to be paying attention to our surroundings, since she obviously wasn't.

That was how her attendant finally caught up to us. Though to be fair, I'm still convinced that she was following Zelda from the get-go, and was just letting her have this moment of rebellion to let her get it out of her system. Sheikah magic is very subtle; when they want to vanish, they vanish, and the only way you see them is if they let you.

It was a neat trick, one that took me the next year to learn.

Anyways.

Night was falling when Impa just appeared, making both of us jump. We'd stopped to decide what to do next, sitting on the fountain to catch our breaths. Naturally, I fell into the fountain. Zelda, at least, didn't laugh as I sat up, spitting water and curses both.

Impa looked me over, her expression somewhere between amused and appalled, as Zelda pulled me out of the water. I wasn't stupid enough to challenge her for it—she was an adult, and more importantly, the princess's guardian—but I really wanted to.

"Thank you for looking after the princess today," she said quietly, calmly. "It is time for her to return home now."

Zelda looked down at her toes, plainly hearing a scolding that I didn't. Part of me was rather churlishly glad that she was in trouble for sneaking out, but the other part of me, that had grown attached to this weird girl, wanted me to stick up for her.

So I turned to the princess and grinned.

"We'll play again later."

She blinked those blue, blue eyes at me, then smiled back.

"Okay!"

Impa didn't seem displeased by the idea; if anything she gave me a very small smile, then escorted the princess in the direction of the palace.

I went home to change into dry clothes.