— Chapter Two: Tested —
.
.
.
— zelda —
Dark clouds loomed in the sky above Hyrule Cathedral, rain lashing the stained-glass windows that surrounded Zelda where she sat on the raised dais before the altar, facing her people. Her father, Lydia, and Giovanna were seated behind the altar; an impassive Leon occupied in the intricately-carved chair usually reserved for the bishop, her sisters on either side of him. At a podium to Zelda's right, the minister waited for the choir to finish their song, a traditional ballad honoring the goddess Hylia. The song was in an ancient form of Hylian, and Zelda understood only a handful of words here and there—goddess, light, land—so she turned her face to the windows, watching water stream down on the opposite side of the colored glass.
Golden glass formed the faces of the golden goddesses, Din, Farore, and Nayru. Shards of ruby, emerald, and sapphire acted as their eyes, glittering jewels on gold faces. The goddesses were stretched up to the sky, their hands cupped around three glittering triangles—their Gift to the land. On sunny days, this was Zelda's favorite of the scenes depicted in the cathedral's windows, but today, with the darkness outside, the image was muted and dull.
Zelda looked away just as the minister began to speak.
"My good people of Hyrule, we are gathered here today to celebrate the coming-of-age of our very own princess, Her Royal Highness Zelda Lapidus Hyrule. On this joyous occasion we must, however, acknowledge the anniversary of a great loss. On this day precisely eighteen years ago, the princess's dear twin sister was lost to us shortly after her birth. Let us take a moment of silence in memory of our kingdom's departed princess, Her Royal Highness Hilda Kerrington Hyrule. May her spirit watch over us this day."
Zelda was good at adapting to difficulty. The death of her mother. Her father's tempestuous moods, his wildly changing whims. The news that a fortune-teller in Hateno had predicted that Malice would return to Hyrule within the next year. The fact that her Gift still—still—had not surfaced. Even Maripaz's marriage.
These things she could manage. These things could be bottled up, locked away to be dealt with in private, with no one to witness the cracks in her façade.
But this—
No one had told her the minister's speech would refer to Hilda.
No one had told her the crowd in the pews would pause and bow their heads, the silence stifling.
No one had told her that the same pain, the same grief she'd felt every day of her life, would return and wash over her anew, threatening to drown her.
Hilda.
Gods. Gods.
Even here, even now, 18 years later, it still hurt. The missing. The emptiness. The knowledge that Hilda should be here at her side, beatific with joy on their coming-of-age—and instead, her infant body, long since turned to dust, was entombed in a private corner of the royal cemetery, separated from the world by a wall of hedges.
Zelda had never gotten the chance to know her sister—maybe that was what made the hurt that much greater. She had no memories of Hilda to comfort her, no smiling visage to summon when things got tough. Just the ever-present, lingering reminder that a twin was supposed to be your best friend for life—and Zelda's twin was dead.
The crowd's respectful silence went on just a beat too long, just long enough for all of the carefully buried grief to resurface, and Zelda felt tears welling up. Clenching her teeth, she blinked back the heat behind her eyes.
She was not going to cry, not here, not now. Not in front of her people.
Not in front of her father.
This was like her mother's funeral all over again.
Perhaps this was a test from the Goddesses—to be burdened with such loss, and yet incapable of expressing her pain. It was a test: to see how much turmoil she could bear. Perhaps—perhaps if she made it through today, Nayru would at last acknowledge her worthiness.
Please, she willed the Goddess, turning her gaze to Nayru's likeness in the window. I've done everything, everything you've asked of me. Please—just tell me, what am I doing wrong?
She held her breath. And—
Nothing. Just the patter of rain, a distant rumble of thunder.
As the minister began to speak again, Zelda let out a breath.
She could play the part.
But for how much longer, she wasn't sure. Sooner or later, this vicious cycle, this giving and waiting and receiving nothing in return, this hurting and holding back and hoping for a blessing that still, still hadn't come—sooner or later, it had to come to an end.
It had to.
For if the fortune-teller was to be trusted, Malice was coming within the year.
Zelda sat on the dais and looked out at her people and knew, somehow or another, this would all come to an end.
.
.
.
— sheik —
It was impossible.
The Hero was alive—and he was one of the Goddesses' chosen.
That was the only way to explain it: the bright flash a heartbeat before he hit the ground, the glimpse of an enormous woman made of golden light reaching up to catch him in her cupped palms, pressing her lips to his forehead before she lowered him to the ground more gently.
Then she raised her head. Turned to look at Sheik. Smiled, just barely, almost apologetically.
And then she vanished, and there was only the triangle—the golden triangle that now glinted on the Hero's right hand, visible even from Sheik's tree—to signify that she had ever been there.
Sheik dropped to the ground and looked at him. At the Hero—no. At Link.
Link, something within him was singing, Link. And he wasn't sure if it was joy or panic or fury that sent him charging out into the open to bend over Link's prone form.
"Link," he whispered, and was struck by the other boy's appearance. So close, Sheik could now see the paleness of Link's face, the cheekbones jutting beneath the skin, the hair-thin scars that peppered his skin. His tunic, the blue of a Champion's, was torn in a hundred places, patched sloppily with different colored thread. There was dried blood on the edge of one sleeve, and still-healing scar tissue on the lean, muscled arm beneath. Even his hair was dull; it fell almost lifelessly across Link's forehead, longer strands trailing past his chin and onto his exposed neck.
There were certain things Sheik had thought about the Hero, before this—bad things, resentful things, even jealous things—he was on their side, the side of the people who had burned his village and killed his mother, he was nothing but a pawn, a vain, spoiled, selfish pawn—but now, looking at him face-to-face, there was nothing but a warning singing in his head.
Wrongwrongwrongthisisallwrong—
Link stirred beneath him and Sheik started, leaping back a foot. His heart was pounding so loud, so fast; on instinct, he felt to make sure his cowl was still in place before he cast a glance up at the Plateau above them. He had the sense that any time now, the Armory Guard would be coming down to retrieve their—
Sheik paused. Their—what? Their charge? Their—
He looked back at Link's face.
Weapon. Prisoner. Plaything.
None of those seemed to fit quite right, but—
They couldn't stay here. That was all he knew.
The Hero's eyes flashed open, slate blue with a ring of gold around the pupil. At once he sat up, scrabbling at his hip for a weapon, but found nothing but the old battered Sheikah Slate hitched there. "Wh—" he started, but Sheik was at his side again, grabbing at his arms, stilling him.
"Look," Sheik said, low and serious, "You have to come with me."
"Wh-what? N-no. No," came the reply. His eyes were so wide, so confused, flickering frantically about him, looking for any familiarity, any escape. Sheik gripped his wrists harder and Link flinched, shrinking in on himself. Startled, Sheik let go.
"Please," he entreated, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you." He added, holding out a hand to help him up, "Link."
Something—terror or doubt or recognition—flashed in Link's eyes. Rejecting Sheik's hand, he got to his feet on his own despite being visibly unsteady, his wary gaze always on Sheik. "What—" he began loudly, but Sheik pressed a finger to his own lips, looking around, and Link quieted, his face still guarded.
Stepping close, his voice barely above a whisper, Sheik said, "Look. I don't know what they did to you up there, but… I can help you. Okay? I—I know a safe place. You just have to—have to come with me."
Link frowned, his eyes narrowing to blue slits. "What—what do you want from me?"
Sheik blinked and shook his head urgently. "Noth—nothing. Nothing, I swear." He exhaled, breath billowing warm against his cowl. "I just want," he added slowly, "to help. To help you."
Link nodded absently, his eyes still flicking over Sheik's form, lingering on the kunai strapped to his waist, the cowl over his face.
"Okay," Link said.
And then he ran.
— link —
This was one of their training exercises. It had to be, even though there was no way they could have known he'd fall—but how else could he explain this, this—Sheikah?
They'd told him about the Sheikah, when he woke three years ago, blank and empty. The memory flickered back to the front of his mind.
Sheikah.
They are the ones who built the Divine Beasts, the Guardians that went savage two hundred years ago and nearly destroyed this land. They are cunning and devious, hoarding their ancient knowledge in their village, Kakariko. Many of them fought alongside Malice during the 100 Years of Calamity. Still, we Hylians were merciful. We offered them clemency, gave them the chance to redeem themselves. We let them back into the castle, let them serve the royal family as in days of old. And see what our good will earned us—Sheikah agents cursed the royal family. They foretold the return of their master, Malice, and in anticipation of its return they cursed the queen with their dark magic, sucking the life from her womb so that her children would not live to fight against them. Yet the Goddesses had mercy on us. Princess Hilda did not live, but Princess Zelda, beloved of Nayru, she fought the curse. And she lived. So did her sisters after her, Lydia and Giovanna. But Sylvia, our queen, did not live. Sapped of her strength, she expired shortly after Giovanna's birth. Our king grieves still, but he has not forgiven the Sheikah for their transgressions. The day of Hilda's death, he chased the Sheikah from his castle. He burned Kakariko to the ground. Yet still the Sheikah live, clinging to the promise of Malice's return.
It is Sheikah technology that allowed you to live, yes, but only because we at the Armory are strong enough to control it. The Yiga who serve you here are former Sheikah, noble souls who deserted their wicked tribe. They taught us to control the ancient power. They fought with us against the Sheikah. And it is they who saved your life, Hero. The Yiga are your friends, as I am your friend. The Sheikah, however, cannot be trusted. They may try to befriend you, but they are liars and thieves, manipulative and cowardly. If you ever find yourself facing a Sheikah, fight. Fight for your life. Avenge our royal family. But beware, Hero, of their tricks. They have mastery over the darkness. They can become shadows themselves. But you, Link—you are the light, a light that must shine over Hyrule once again. The dark will never prevail so long as you fight. This is why you must train. You must endure pain and suffering to temper your blade, to grow strong enough to defeat Malice and purge all darkness from Hyrule, once and for all.
You are the light.
Never forget this.
He had to find a weapon. They hadn't given him a weapon today. Sometimes they provided him with swords, spears, clubs, bows. But that was for combat trials or hunting trips. He wasn't supposed to need a weapon, not today. Today was gliding practice. Today he was unarmed—and he couldn't fight without a weapon.
So he had to find one—before his pursuer caught up with him.
The Sheikah boy was chasing him, not even trying to mask his footsteps. "Please," he was calling, "Link, please wait!"
There it was again.
Link.
A worm of doubt twisted in his mind.
How did the Sheikah know his name?
It was obvious, he realized. They must have spied on the Armory. Or they knew his name from—before. Before he was asleep. He still couldn't remember a thing from that time, so it was possible.
Don't worry about your memories, they had told him. They will return. For now, focus on the present. Now is the most important.
But that was three years ago, and still—nothing.
He shook his head to clear it.
Weapon. He needed a weapon. Needed to—
Fight.
There. A fallen tree branch, knocked down in the building wind. It looked strong but not too heavy—perfect. He raced for it, hurrying to pick it up and get into a defensive position. When he turned the Sheikah boy was there, breathing hard.
Again, Link's eyes fell on the dagger-looking weapon strapped to the boy's waist. He should have disarmed the Sheikah earlier, when he was close enough. Orlon—no, Captain Reid—was definitely going to have words with him later. He was supposed to be able to think on his feet in any scenario, to act like a real warrior. A real Hero. And yet here he was, still making novice mistakes like this. He felt his expression darken.
He was going to win. He was going to prove himself.
This was obviously a test run, a trial to see if he could handle himself in a strange environment, away from the Plateau, against a foreign enemy. If he succeeded, maybe they'd finally let him start training with the other Champions.
He gripped the branch harder, preparing to strike.
And yet—
The Sheikah hadn't drawn his weapon. He just stood there, looking… gentle. Pleading. Again his hands were spread, palms toward Link, a clear sign that he was unarmed. The wind whipped his hair into his eyes—crimson eyes. Link stared, overwhelmed with the feeling that he should trust this Sheikah—no, more than that, he was certain of it, he knew this boy—
Then Captain Reid's voice rang again in his head.
If you ever find yourself facing a Sheikah, fight. Fight for your life.
This was a ruse. A ploy. This—this boy was just supposed to be distracting him while the other Sheikah moved in. An alarming thought hit him: maybe they were attacking the Armory. Trying to take back their ancient tech, their power, the other warriors slumbering inside.
Maybe this wasn't a test.
Maybe this was a raid.
If the Sheikah were able to capture the Armory, they could turn the tide of the war before it even started. It was up to him to step up to his duty.
Protect the Armory. Fight the forces of Malice. Be a Hero.
Be the light.
With a yell, Link raised his weapon and attacked.
.
.
.
A/N: In which Link jumps to conclusions and Zelda struggles with grief.
Dedicated to Tues for being the best ever. Also much love to everyone who reviewed, especially ThunderClouds7.
This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to cut it in half so you could get it sooner. Not to mention it was a bit emotionally taxing to write Zelda's part, especially since her situation with Hilda mirrors my own; my own twin sister died at birth, so I've been thinking about her a lot lately. This one's for you, Liv.
More questions and maybe even some answers next time,
eph
