Another exposition-heavy chapter; more of that bloodlust and action you saw in chapter one won't be happening for a bit longer, I'm afraid. It's hard writing an entire person's past. Harder than I would have expected.

Thanks once again for all the lovely reviews—keep them up please!

Happy reading :)

~Alyssa

Quae nobis futura vita non debere.

….

Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect.

Now

It was strange, almost, how unequivocally I trusted them. Even that first night I felt as if I belonged, a part of their dysfunctional family.

As the weeks passed, I learned much about who they were. Garrett was born a mage, forsaken as an infant and adopted by Baxter's parents. His abilities were limited to what he knew how to do; and even then, what he was able to do without blowing something up. It frustrated him greatly to know he left so much of his power untapped, although with no formal training his skill was amazing. He and Baxter had been as close as brothers, and left their family about four years ago, coming to Kakiriko and finding a seven-year old Archer half dead on the side of the road. They found an abandoned shack in the back of the alleyway and set up their base.

Zenith came two years later, having been sold through the brothels, the black market where women were the merchandise. She escaped, but was chased by the people who imprisoned her. She ran into the alleyway, hiding in the shadows, her pursuers just about to discover her, when someone grabbed her by her ponytail and pulled her through the wall. "And the rest is history" Baxter would say, looking slightly uncomfortable, a blush creeping up over his neck, as he quickly changed the subject.

Together, the four formed The Glaive: Kakiriko's infamous band of thieves. With the falling economy and famine fast approaching, many of the wealthy were hoarding food and gold, making the merchants and their workers suffer.

The Glaive stole from these people, buying various products from the many merchants that made their livelihood in Kakiriko and giving them to the desperately poor, regular Robin Hoods if I had ever met them. This did not come without a price: they were constantly on the run from the law. The only time they were safe to roam the streets was under the cover of darkness. Then the world was theirs—or (although I had yet to have a price on my head) ours, rather.

During the first months or so that I had joined them, I was limited to mainly household duties. Many of the people, children or otherwise, that they took in left within the first few weeks, simply needing a kind word and a warm meal to get them back up on their feet. With the rotating help they couldn't exactly get used to someone contributing regularly when they could very well be gone the next day.

"We're not a cult." Archer said when I asked him why they let those people leave. "We're here to be the help that we couldn't find when we needed it. And most decent folks never forget the people who saved their lives. All the homeless and poor, they've got ears, too. They make good allies, and they wouldn't dare rat us out."

I was a rarity, they told me later. Hardly anyone chose to stay past the first month, and if they did, the usually left sometime during the second. By the time I had passed both of the milestones they had already completely accepted me into their family.

Baxter began to take me out on errands at night; just trivial things, like buying milk from the farmers and bread from the bakery. Slowly, he inducted me to the ways of the Glaive, places I could hide if I was on the run, people that would take me in.

"You have a smarter head on your shoulders than any kid your age I've met." He said, his face solemn. It was the first time I had ever seen him so serious. "But if you ever get caught being around me, or with Garrett, or getting caught in the act, you run like Hell. You find a place, and act like a scared, orphaned child until they let you in. And then you stay there, you hear me?"

There was one night, one specific night that I'll always remember, and can tell you in detail. It changed me irrevocably, the way I saw the world and the hatred I felt for it. Although it may seem like a trivial thing that at nine years old I was much too young to appreciate, but appreciate I did. This was the turning point in my short depression, therefore something important to contribute to my story, to help you understand my plight.

I am not crazy. However I will not deny that I am burdened.

Let me explain.

ox(O)xo

Then

The wind was biting cold, and I turned up my collar as we headed towards the square, practically running to keep pace with Baxter's long strides. But I suppose it wasn't too bad a thing, as it gave me a valid excuse for a pounding heart. Every step we took was a step closer to getting caught. Thrown in prison. In Baxter's case, maybe even executed. But on and on he traversed, until we were consumed by a throng of passerby, each of whom hardly spared us a glance. Baxter must have noticed my astonishment.

"The evening crowd won't lift a finger against us. Odds are they've got just as much dirt under their fingernails as we do." He smiled reassuringly, and led the way deeper into town. "And I happen to have several personal friends that will take care of them if they do."

A shrill wail sliced through the happy sounds of mingling and music, causing both him and me to jump. I stopped in my tracks, automatically searching for the source, but Baxter carried on, looking over his shoulder. "Keep up, lad."

I broke into a jog, trying to find his head over the crowd of people that had inconveniently separated us. Instead of finding him, though, my eyes found a tree.

"Baxter, look at that."

It stubbornly clung to its leaves as those of its brethren browned and were tossed in the wind. For some reason, I respected it, a certain admiration filling me at the sight of its beautiful foliage. Why, I didn't know, or care. The fleeting feeling had left as soon as it came. But there, nestled against its trunk and among the discarded brush and roots, I discovered the source of the noise.

A baby.

Wrapped only in a thin, tattered swaddling cloth, its skin was a light blue. It was small, maybe a few months old, and wispy strands of dark hair clung close to its face. Its cries pierced the night, making itself rather known to the entire town, but hardly anyone spared a glance in its direction.

Its desperate wails ripped my heart, empathy and sorrow filling my chest. Hadn't my parents done the same with me? I was born, and they abandoned me in Kokiri Forest. However, there were individuals to help support and raise me. The Kokiri weren't here to save this child. It would die before it even knew what it was like to live.

And that wasn't fair. It hadn't done anything wrong. It had no say in whether it was to be conceived, whether it was to be born and unjustly thrust into a world where even its parents wouldn't love it. And because of several wrong decisions out of its control, it would die. Just like that.

No.

I wouldn't let it.

"Baxter!"

Finally finding him in the throng of people, I grabbed onto his arm, trying to force him to stop.

"What is it?"

I gestured to the tree in which it rested under, my voice desperate. Didn't he hear it, too? "The baby."

"Yeh? What of it?" He looked confused, as if an abandoned child was a common occurrence. I was taken aback at his nonchalance. Was he that indifferent to life?

"It's going to die! We can't just leave it there!"

He put his hand on my shoulder, turning me away from the child. "Nox, listen. With the brothels being as active as they are, there are children getting dumped on the streets every other day. This one's probably been out for a while, and even if we tried we wouldn't be fast enough to save it."

He started walking again, but I kept a firm latch on his arm. Even though I was half his size and he could have easily dragged me, I was insistent. "No. We have to try. Please, Baxter. I…" I paused, racking my brain for a way to convince him. "My parents left me, too. I can't stand to see it abandoned. And…and if it is too late…at least we tried. I can't just leave it there. Please."

His eyes soften as he takes in my pleading expression, releasing my shoulder and half-turning towards the baby. "Look, I have some business to take care of, but you can head back to base, and take the kid with you." He shed his heavy coat, handing it to me. "Run like hell, lad."

Thanking him quickly, I turned around and took his advice, sprinting across the busy street with his coat in tow. There it was, nestled within the roots of a linden tree, still struggling and squalling, oblivious to the passerby. I scooped it up, frantically swaddling it with Baxter's coat, wanting to protect it immediately. I opened my own, stowing it quickly inside and redoing the buttons, clutching it to my chest and hoping it would take some of my warmth. Its skin was ice against mine.

I held it to me, running hell-for-leather back to the base, for once thanking the Goddesses for being so small so that we were skinny enough to fit through the passageway.

I threw open the door, incredibly grateful for the wave of warm air from the crackling fire that washed over my face, panting heavily and leaning against the door for support.

"Gah…Garrett! Zenith! Argh-Archer! Come quick!"

Archer appeared at the bottom of the steps immediately, his red eyes sparkling with excitement. "What is it?" he asked eagerly, "Did the police finally catch Baxter? Are they taking him to jail? Oooh, he owes me fifty rupees, we made a bet a few weeks ago, and he-"

"Not right now!" I snapped, quickly unbuttoning my coat and taking the child out. A tenderness touched my heart when I realized it had fallen asleep, but the feeling was sent straight to Hell when I heard its struggled pants, choking and harsh. "Where's Garrett and Zenith?"

Archer eyed the child, his face a bit repulsed as he took a step forward to get a better look. "Is that a baby?"

"Yes, Archer." I said, utterly exasperated, frustrated at him for no reason. I picked it up from the tangles of Baxter's coat, going to sit by the fireplace's invaluable warmth. "I need their help. Where are they?"

He paused, making sure to give me a funny look. I couldn't be sure what he was thinking—I didn't know him well enough yet to read his face—but he was clearly judging me. Whether it was positive or negative, there was no way of knowing.

"I think they're both upstairs." he said finally. Want me to go get them?"

"Please. And see if you can find any blankets."

He thundered back up the steps, leaving me alone to do what I would with the baby. With the heat from the fire, its skin was already turning back to its normal beige. Its eyes were still closed, but its breathing was no longer labored, instead the steady, muted tempo of sleep. However, its skin was still ice to the touch.

It was then, finally alone and left to think, I was able to question myself for my rash actions. I had acted in a brief state of compassion; but what would it do to me if it died?

And what would I do if it lived?

I didn't even know its gender and I was already taking responsibility for its life?

I myself had just been accepted into this excuse of a family. Who was I to force another onto them? What if they forced it out? What if they forced me out for bringing the menace to their home? I couldn't risk that. I had finally found a home, a place where I belonged, and I was loath to give the treasure up once I had finally discovered its worth. I began to become frantic. I had to get rid of it, I had to—

Before I could finish the panicked thought, the bundle in my arms stirred. I held it at arm's length, up to the firelight so I could see its face.

Slowly, its mouth widened into a large O, its ruddy pink face scrunching into a yawn, a small sigh leaving its lips. And then, the slits that were its eyes suddenly opened, staring deep into mine. Beautiful green irises, a sparkling emerald unlike anything I'd seen before peered back up at me. It smiled with a delicate giggle that seemed to make the room a bit brighter.

At that moment I wondered how I ever considered leaving it, my mindset just a few seconds ago abruptly thrust from my head. This…this glorious, innocent creature, this beautiful work of nature, no matter its short past, was mine now. In those inconsequential seconds, my choice in picking it off the street was made irreversible and irrevocable.

For so long, I had been so helpless to what happened to me and the ones that I loved. Death had a seat at the dinner table, and almost like an old friend, I was used to meeting him at every turn. And having this child here, having this tiny person in my arms and knowing that I had saved it, that Death wouldn't be able to have it like he had had so many others, pleased me more than I could possibly say.

Seconds, minutes, hours passed, I don't know, but Archer finally reappeared on the steps with Zenith behind him and a bundle of woolen blankets in his arms.

She started towards me, her eyes immediately drawn to Baxter's mussed up coat. "What have you got there? Did Baxter—" She stopped short when she saw the contents of my bundle, her eyes widening with surprise. "Nayru! Is that a baby?" She rushed forward, going to grab it out of my arms. "Where did you find the poor dear?"

I handed the child to her exponentially more competent hands. "On the street. Zenith, tell me we can help it. Please." I begged, knowing fully well it was out of her hands but hoping with all my heart she would know what to do.

Her azure eyes hardened as they took on a strange determination. "Of course we can. We can try." She beckoned Archer forward, deftly unwrapping the tattered swaddling cloth. "Archer, Go get some water from the well, throw it over the fire. I need warm water. Nox, check the cupboard. I believe we have a bit of milk left. That needs to be warmed up, too." Her voice suddenly took on an affectionate tone. "She's a fighter, this little lady here."

"It's a girl?" I asked, freezing in my tracks as Archer bolted out the door with a bucket in tow.

"Yes." She smiled, taking the heavy blanket off the floor where Archer had dumped it and wrapping the baby up tightly, leaving only her face visible. "Now stop gawking at her and get that milk! I won't have her starve to death!"

Some hour later, after all the dirt and frost had been scrubbed away and she was fed from a dusty old bottle Garrett had fashioned out of a handkerchief, Zenith settled down in front of the fireplace again, the infant asleep in her arms.

"Will she be okay?" I asked tenitavly, going to kneel beside the chair to peer at her tiny face.

"I believe so. You did well, Nox. You saved her life."

I bit my lip, folding my arms over the arm of the chair, looking up at Zenith with a pleading expression. "…We can keep her, can't we?"

For a long while, she only looked at me, face pondering as she saw something I could not even begin to guess at in my eyes. It was almost exactly the same look that Archer had given me earlier, though where his eyes were confused, hers were tender. Compassionate.

Slowly, her gaze returned to the child, lifting a finger to stroke the satin skin of her cheek. "It'll be hard," she said finally. "We'll have to be more careful than we have before. And Nayru knows what Baxter and Garrett will think…"

"But…?" I asked, hope rising and bubbling giddily in my chest as I watched her face melt.

She smiled, carefully reaching out to squeeze my arm without disturbing the baby's sleep. "I've always wanted a daughter."

I allowed myself a small smile, a pleased blush burning my ears, though inside I was singing with joy.

She looked to me again as she continued. "And that means we need something to call her." she said, her voice thoughtful. "I thought you would like to name her."

Name her? Me? The child in me thought this an enormous task, a responsibility that I should not be allowed to be given. At the same time I was honored that Zenith had given me the choice, and another part of my brain was already trying to think of one.

It was a sad testament to my ruined mind when the first name that came to my lips was Zelda. Even the thought of her name made tears sting in the corners of my eyes. Although it was becoming an old wound, it hurt nonetheless. No. I would not name the girl after that traitor.

It was then that the resilient foliage of the linden tree filled my mind, almost the same shade as the girl's eyes. It was the tree, the linden tree that helped me find her. If it hadn't been so stubborn, so remarkably durable and strong, I would have never noticed it, or discovered the sound, carrying on with Baxter and leaving the child behind to die. The baby owed that tree. I owed that tree.

"Linden." I said, finally sure of myself. "We'll call her Linden."

If Zenith found my choice odd, it did not show on her face. "A beautiful name, Nox." She complimented me, smiling down at the sleeping child. "Welcome to the Glaive, Linden." she cooed, tapping her on the nose affectionately.

I allowed myself a small smile.

Nox, 1

Death, 0.