Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.
The Good Fall Harder From Grace
Chapter Four - Dark Memories
The prince was a dead man.
Sheik had accepted the job. All in all, it hadn't been a difficult decision. He had been making preparations all week. There was going to be a ball at the castle in two days, celebrating the birthday of Princess Zelda, as well as her rumored handfasting to King Jemir of Wellspring, a wealthy ally of Hyrule. That was the night that Sheik had decided he would do it. It was the only time that he could think of that he would be able to obtain private access to the prince.
He had made several underhanded deals with more than a few seedy characters in order to procure an invitation to the event, originally meant for one Lord Bartley of Faronna. Sheik would be attending the party in his stead, under the pretense that he was Lord Bartley's son, and his father had recently taken ill. Sheik had also learned from his week in Castle Town, looking for places with that familiar and safe inverted Triforce and listening to the gossip there, that the Prince was apparently known for his taste in men. Not for his ravenous taste, though. Apparently he wasn't as oversexed as many people believed; it was simply that men were all this boy preferred tasting, and that was soon to become a problem for the King when it came time for his son to marry the daughter of one of his allies. Sheik intended on approaching the Prince from that angle: seduction. Dear goddesses. As if he could even seduce a goat with an offered fig branch. The thought was laughable, but he knew he could turn on the charm when he needed to, especially when he was pretending to be someone else. He couldn't think of any other discrete way of getting the Prince to come with him on his own, so that was what it was going to have to be.
Something kept bothering Sheik, though; a nagging bit of guilt that had been eating away at him all week: his target was only seventeen. Still a boy. Sheik had still been in the prisons at that age, and that had been six years ago.
Not to say that he liked it, but he was used to killing pompous old men. He was used to going after businessmen who made each other angry over stupid deals and bargains gone awry. He was used to going after the cruel and wealthy and using his pay to help out the hungry and poor that were so abundant in and around Hyrule.
He wasn't used to going after boys who hadn't even reached manhood yet... None of it was sitting right with him. But... fifty-thousand rupees... He'd really had no choice but to accept. All that money could go a long way. Hell, he'd kill his own father for that amount. He'd break back into the prisons, find his father there, and slice his throat. Fuck, he'd do it even without the money. Bloody bastard...
"Are you okay?" Andrew asked from where he sat on top of the bar, drying a glass with a dirty bar towel. It was mid-morning, so the tavern was closed to the public. That day was the first day that Sheik hadn't been busy preparing for the upcoming job, and when Andrew had asked him to stay in for the day in the family tavern, Sheik had agreed easily enough. It wasn't often he found time to rest, after all. Andrew and he had been able to form an easy relationship based on their light banter over the past week. It was comforting, almost.
The night that Sheik had arrived, Andrew's father, Bayard, had offered Sheik a room for the duration of his stay in Castle Town. Sheik had refused at first, insisting it would be too dangerous for the man and his son if he stayed there, but Bayard had rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"That topsy-turvy Triforce carved into the door isn't there just to look pretty, you know," he said. "It means safety. Safety for people who are down on their luck. Safety for people who need to be hidden." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
"I'm a murderer," Sheik said lowly. "You'd allow a murderer in your home? Near your son?"
Bayard laughed loudly. The sound of it could fill up an entire room. "Seems like he's hell bent on getting near you all on his own." The man winked at him. He actually winked.
Sheik's face went scarlet.
"You're an assassin," Bayard continued. "Or a mercenary, or whatever title it is you choose to call yourself. And I don't know where you come from, or how you came to have the skills you do; but tell me something, Sheik." Bayard fixed him with a stern gaze. "Who have you actually killed? What type of people?"
Sheik shrugged. "Mostly nobles with petty debts and wrongs to settle."
"Right, right," Bayard said. "Men and women who sit on their rupees and cleave onto every last one of them with all their might and power, rather than help those around them who need that money far more than they do. I would consider those deaths a favor to society before I would consider them murder."
"I..." Sheik hesitated, carefully choosing his next words. "Thank you. For your hospitality."
"I do have one condition, though," Bayard said, his voice having gone flat and cold. "Use some of all that money you're getting to help somebody. Because if you keep it all to yourself, how different are you from the ones you're paid to kill?"
Sheik nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. He would often leave satchels of money anonymously in front of poorhouses and places like that. He'd been living in those conditions growing up, after all. His mother and he had food on the table maybe half the nights of the week, if they were lucky. He knew what it was like to go to bed hungry, and he knew it firsthand. Instead of telling Bayard all this, though, he said, "I will. It's a promise."
Bayard nodded, pleased by this. "And one more thing. On the night you finish the job." He crossed his big arms over his beg chest, and suddenly, he was ten times more threatening. "Don't come anywhere near this place."
Sheik blinked rapidly, wondering what in the name of the goddesses he'd done wrong.
But Bayard didn't leave him wondering for long. "I don't blame you for accepting the job, I really don't. I understand the pull of that much money, Sheik, but I want to make it clear to you that I don't approve of it, not one bit. Had I known that that was what that man was going to offer you, I never would have let him into my home." He shook his head, looking off at the ground. "I'm allowing you to stay here because I believe your intentions are good, but my generosity can only be blind to so much. The prince may be rich, but he's a young boy, and young boys deserve the chance to prove what kind of men they're going to be. And they certainly don't deserve to be judged on the merits of their fathers. I don't know who wants him dead badly enough to hire you for the task of it, but I don't agree with it. This whole... situation... stinks worse than the sewers, and I sure as hell don't need soldiers sniffing around this place."
"Don't worry," Sheik mumbled. "I won't come back."
"I'm fine," Sheik said to Andrew finally, glancing up at him from underneath his fringe of hair.
Andrew sniffed, shooting Sheik a look that said 'yeah, right.'
"Will you quit acting as if you know me?" Sheik muttered back, glaring at the wall behind the counter. "You don't know what every one of my little expressions mean, so stop it. We're not bloody married." He turned to scowl at him.
Andrew gave him an odd look. "Can't help being friendly, mate. It's in my nature."
Sheik snorted, turning away. "Your father won't be happy about you not getting all of your work done. It's likely he'll blame me for distracting you."
Andrew shrugged. "The tavern is just a ruse for what really goes on here, anyway. To keep the soldiers and the Crown from sniffing about."
Sheik raised an eyebrow. "Then it's even more important that your chores be kept up, isn't it? Pretenses, and all that." He smirked.
Andrew rolled his eyes, not offering a response. Instead, he gave Sheik an expectant look. "Come now, Last of the Sheikah," he said in a quiet voice, patting the counter beside where he sat. "Have a seat beside me."
Sheik frowned up at him, fighting to remain obstinate for as long as he could. A few more moments of that pleading, almost aloof stare, though, and he complied, jumping up onto the bar and slouching his shoulders, frowning petulantly. "I'm not the last one," he muttered.
"Are you full-blooded, then?" Andrew asked.
"I doubt it," Sheik answered. "No one is anymore. Not the Gerudo, not the Sheikah, and only about half of the Hylians. The handful of nobles, who care about pedigree and that sort of thing." He reached out and plucked at Andrew's only slightly pointed ear. "Your ears aren't pointed enough to be a full-blooded Hylian, you see? There's something else in you. The Zora and Goron tribes may be pure, but that's just because they can't—"
"Because they can't make babies with anyone but their own kind," Andrew finished for him; punctuating the end of the sentence by setting down the glass he'd been drying and flicked Sheik's hand away, rubbing his molested ear with an irritated frown.
"Don't look so sad." Sheik chuckled, putting his hands out on the counter behind him for balance, stretching out and leaning back on them. "Look at me, I'm probably at least a third Hylian, and you don't see me moping about."
"You don't look it," Andrew muttered. "Your eyes are as bloody red as an apple."
"Some apples are green," Sheik reminded, and received a snort of derision in return.
They both sat in companionable silence for a while before Andrew spoke up again. "Did you know your mother and father?"
Sheik froze. The question had caught him off guard, to say the least. Those separate stories—the stories of the two divided parts of his childhood—were something he didn't usually share. Or care to think about, really. The answer was yes, he had known both of them, but never at the same time.
He had grown up with his mother: a strong woman who had raised him on her own, doing her best by him. Sheik wished he knew if she were still alive or not. He had not seen her in... what was it? Eight, nine years? Not since the day he had been arrested. Not since he was fourteen. He often dreamed of going back to the small town where they used to call home and finding her, but he could never bring himself to try. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment and shame on her face when she heard of what had become of him, he supposed.
And his father he knew from a... different place.
"Hey." Andrew nudged him again. When Sheik came to, he found himself staring slack-jawed at Andrew's very closely hovering face. "You alright, mate?"
Sheik shook his head to clear it. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I knew them."
"Well, were they full-blooded?" he pressed.
Sheik blinked. "Well... I know my mother wasn't. But my father always swore by his blood. Said it was pure of anything foul, but my guess is he was lying for the sake of pride. He always thought himself better than the Hylians. Better than anybody, really."
Andrew chuckled softly. "Foul? Foul meaning my kind, yeah?'"
Sheik turned to meet his eyes. "I said that my father thought that, not that I do," he said.
Andrew gazed evenly back at him. "You're very puzzling, you know."
"Am I?"
"Yes," Andrew answered, resting his hand on Sheik's leg. "You're what they would call an assassin—"
Sheik stiffened, flinching away a few inches. He watched the hand on his leg carefully, waiting for it to move, and perhaps secretly praying it wouldn't. Andrew watched him closely, but made no move to back off as the hand, sure enough, rose higher. His chocolate brown eyes tracked Sheik, his every movement, as if they knew just the way to rip him open and take away all of his secrets.
"—and yet you're not much different from any other person I've met, so far as I can tell. Perhaps a bit more mysterious; perhaps a bit more shut-off..." Andrew's other hand wrapped its way around Sheik's right hand, squeezing it gently. And then Andrew stopped moving and drew back a bit, looking down.
He brought Sheik's right hand closer to his face to inspect it, biting his lip and glancing back up at him. Sheik shifted uncomfortably.
"Why do you only have four fingers on your right hand?" Andrew asked quietly, his eyes boring into Sheik's from beneath his lashes.
Gently, Sheik pulled his hand away and dropped it into his lap, next to where Andrew's hand still lay on his thigh. "It... it was considered your first warning, back where I came from. If you were caught stealing, the first time you lost a finger. The second time, they... took you to the prisons. I… I stole some bread when I was younger. Food was scarce, and I didn't have much of a choice."
Andrew gaped at him in disbelief. "And where the hell would they do something like that? That's a barbaric thing to do! Goddesses, how old were you?"
Sheik shrugged. "Twelve, when it happened. Of course it wasn't the first time I'd stolen, it was just the first time they caught me."
Andrew gave him a gentle smile, his lips pursed tight. Sheik was grateful when the obvious second question didn't come: 'Were you ever caught again?' He didn't want to have to explain that time as well. Something much worse than losing a finger had happened.
"I'm sorry that happened to you," Andrew said softly.
A rough, scathing bark of a laugh tore its way from Sheik's throat. "Worse things than that have happened to me. I don't really think about it anymore. It was over ten years ago." Sheik turned his head to study Andrew's reaction to all of this; but as they came to face each other, they had grown so close that Sheik's nose skimmed over the skin of Andrew's cheek as he turned. A week's worth of tension was bubbling to the surface. "What is this going to turn into?" Sheik whispered, frowning at the way his body was both melting into and wincing away from the contact. "Because I need to know."
"What's it matter?" Andrew laughed breathily, the air ghosting across Sheik's face, hot and close. "You'll be out of the city in a few days, the poor little Prince's blood on your hands. It's not like we're forming lifelong connections here, right?"
Sheik flicked his eyes up to meet with Andrew's, and they stared at each other, inches apart. Sheik swallowed, blinking quickly. "It matters."
Andrew gave an annoyed sigh, pulling away a bit. "What's happened here, then?" he murmured, giving Sheik a funny look. "You've gone all soft and sentimental on me. Wasn't it you the first night who came waltzing in here asking me for a drink?"
Sheik shrugged. "A drink is one thing. And I did that to get you to listen to me. You were being a very rude host."
Andrew barked out a short, harsh laugh. "What are you worried about, then? Think I'm going to tie you down, steal your secrets, and sell you off to the Crown for the ransom? Demand you stay here in Castle Town and become my bloody fucking wife? Mate, that's not what this is. I'm eighteen. I don't have my eyes set on any one somebody, that's for sure, and least of all an assassin."
Sheik sighed, his stomach somersaulting. Relief. Fear. Hesitation. He had to keep telling himself that none of this meant anything. "There," he murmured, taking a deep breath. "That's all I asked to know, isn't it?"
Andrew shrugged, jutting his lip out into a pout. "S'pose it is. But I don't see why you have to go around frustrating me just to get to it."
Despite himself, a small grin stole its way onto Sheik's lips, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of closeness. After all, he was young, and he had longings of the flesh as much as the next man. It was just that sometimes he kept himself so closely guarded and tightly bound that he had... difficulties even getting this close to another person. He had to remember to push all that aside, and remind himself that he should want this. He was supposed to want it.
"Suppose I like seeing you flustered," he said after a moment, opening his eyes back up to look at Andrew, who was smiling a sly sort of smile; and before Sheik could put any more thought into what was happening, he found himself being pulled even closer to him.
"We'll just see who gets flustered, won't we, Mister Sheikah Assassin?" Andrew said in a low, husky voice.
Sheik certainly wasn't stupid. He could tell where this was going. And oh, his body wanted it, that was for certain. After all, he was twenty-three: young and strong and healthy. His body should want this sort of thing. It was just that... his mind often had a hard time catching up in situations like these. He should be thinking of lips on lips and hands stroking everywhere, skin and shuddering pleasure; but instead he just had... dark memories: pain, and regret, and more than what was probably a healthy dosage of fear. These things scared him.
But normalcy was the goal, and he did want this—at least, that's what he was dead set on telling himself—so he pushed down the dark, murky, fearful feelings and forced his mind to become as aroused as the rest of him was.
Sheik felt his heart skip a nervous beat as he leaned in, their faces touching. And then, with a shaky sigh, he was folding his lips over Andrew's, hot breath flooding into his mouth. They kissed, hands all over one another, and as kisses tend to do, it got progressively heated. Heated to the point where somehow their shirts had been thrown away, crumpled on the floor; and their trousers were open, and Andrew was squirming on the bar underneath him, both of them moaning into each other's mouths. It felt... not wrong, but not right either. No, wait, it did feel right. Andrew felt good. He just... Sheik would be lying if he said it didn't feel like the best he'd felt in a while, but it also felt like... like he... like Sheik was only getting halfway into it... Like he wanted something more, or something else, or something different. Or maybe even nothing at all. Or, like he wasn't allowing his mind to follow along down that same path with the actions of his body. He couldn't. He might not be able to stand it, if he did.
He kept his eyes shut tight during the entire encounter. After all, he hated not feeling in control, and... sex didn't really meant much to him after the prisons...
"So you will have the horse waiting for me at the southern gate?" Sheik asked, watching the man carefully.
The horse dealer was a tall, burly man; strongly-built from the days of hard work he put into his job. He seemed like a genuinely good man.
He frowned, eyeing Sheik up and down. A worried expression hung about his face. "What'd you say you needed it there for?"
Sheik crossed his arms, glancing idly at a shouting match that had broken out between two men further down the street. "I didn't say," he answered offhandedly, not bothering to look back at the horse handler. He was quite content to watch the shouting between the two men down the street break out into a small scuffle. The horse handler's patience was waning, though; that was obvious. The next time Sheik looked up, though, someone had broken up the fight. Sheik sighed and went from watching that to checking his nails, acting as if he were bored. "It's not your job to know," he murmured. "It's your job to do what I'm paying you for. That's the very definition of a job, isn't it?"
The man crossed his arms over his thick chest. "Look here, little man. I don't have to do anything. I run my own business, and therefore, I have the right to refuse selling to anyone I please, and I say you're acting rather too suspicious for my tastes."
Sheik finally glanced up, squinting past the sun barely peeking over the rooftop behind the man. The sunlight was warm, it being the end of spring and near into summer, but the glare it sent off was nearly blinding. He put his hand up to shield his eyes and looked at the man for a few seconds, thinking about what to do. He couldn't afford to go to another who sold horses. Word might get around that he was refused service, and then suspicions would arise. He didn't want that.
"You're not wealthy, are you?" he asked finally.
The horse handler snorted, but his stance relaxed a bit. "Been hard on the job all my life, kid. Think I'd still be working with horses if I could afford not to be?"
"Excellent," Sheik said, nodding. "Then I have no problem helping a humble man in need. I'll pay double what you're asking for no more questions." He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that fair?"
The man searched his eyes—Sheik wasn't sure what for—and seemed to decide something from what he found there. "Fucking damn it all, alright," he grunted. "I may live to regret this, but goddesses know a few hundred extra rupees will do nothing but good in my family. You've got yourself a deal, young man."
The sun sank behind the western skyline as Sheik walked, a few hours later. The cool evening air chilled his skin; but on the bright side, everything for the job was in order. He knew his target's appearance back and forth, he had a way in, a set escape, and he'd rely on pure skill for the rest of it. He'd even taken part of the day to bribe some of the castle guards for their silence; just a few here and there. In a few days' time, the Prince of Hyrule would be no more. The entire day had been productive, and, well... busy.
Really, he could have waited until tomorrow to purchase a horse for escape, but after Andrew and he had... Well, Sheik hadn't wanted to linger. It was just too awkward. They'd both pulled their clothes back on, smoothing down the wrinkles and wiping off the sweat. He'd felt Andrew's eyes burning into him the entire time.
"Don't know why you've gone all shy and quiet now," Andrew muttered. "It was good enough for me. After all, when you're done and gone out of the city, I can go around and brag that I bedded an assassin, isn't that right?" He laughed good-naturedly.
Sheik shrugged, not feeling much like joking. He didn't like the way he felt all undone and exposed.
"Hey." Andrew drew closer and squeezed his shoulder, nothing but waves of warmth and acceptance rolling off of him. "Seriously, mate, everything was fine."
"I know," Sheik said softly. "It was."
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"
Sheik nodded, but his throat felt tight. "Yes," he lied.
He'd left not long after that.
He... He just couldn't... It was just...
The truth was that he wasn't all right. He hadn't been. He still wasn't. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever be. He'd prefer to just not think about it. Were it up to him, he'd have the four years he spent in that place wiped clean from his memory. Stupid, stupid...
He tried to push it all out of his mind, reminding himself that he was twenty-three, and it was healthy for him to do that every now and again. The way his mind was warring inside him was nothing but stupid.
All he needed to do was think about the Princess's birthday ball in a few days, killing the Prince, finishing the job, and getting the fuck out of Hyrule for a couple of years. That's all he wanted. Well, that and peace.
That day had been interesting, to be sure. Link, for some reason or another, couldn't seem to stop thinking about the stranger he'd ran into that day in the main square.
He was able to see a little corner of the sky from the window he was gazing out of. The close tower outside blocked out most of the wide expanse of the night, but he could see a little. The sunset he had just watched minutes ago had been beautiful.
He supposed the stranger wouldn't stay in his mind for long, though. There was much around to distract him, after all. Things at the castle were tense. Right after he'd left the audience with his father and Marguerite, Link had rushed to his sister's chambers. Zelda had been reading in her comfy, overstuffed armchair when he'd arrived, thin wire spectates fixed on her nose. She'd looked up at him with a frown.
Zelda put down the book. "What's wrong now, then?"
Link dropped heavily onto the small stuffed stool that had been pushed up against the side of her chair. "I'm dead," he managed to get out.
Zelda dropped a hand over the arm of her chair to pat the top of his head, letting her delicate fingers trail a bit in his blonde hair.
"Link, I'm sure you're over-exaggerating just a tiny bit, don't you think?" Zelda murmured back, still sounding distracted.
Link craned his neck around and scowled over the arm of the chair at his sister. Her eyes were still fixed on the book in her lap. She was only giving him half her attention, apparently. Wretched girl... This was important! This was life and death.
"Zelda!" Link hissed. "Do you mind?"
With a great sigh, Zelda marked her place in her book, turned, placed it gently on the side table, and then ever-so-slowly turned back to face Link, propping her chin up on her hand as she gazed down at him. "What?" she said simply, giving the 't' an extra little click of her tongue.
Link pulled his feet up under him on the stool, sagging against the side of the chair and resting his head on the arm. Zelda brushed her fingers through his hair again. It was soothing. Familiar. Comforting.
Finally, he said it. "Marguerite's pregnant."
"That's not exactly news, Link," Zelda chided. "Everyone knows."
"Yes, but she and Father know what the baby is now. And they've just told me."
The fingers stopped moving on his head.
"They had a sorcerer check. It's going to be a boy," he said in a scratchy voice.
There was still no answer. And no movement from her fingers.
"I think she's going to have me killed," Link confessed, letting out a huge breath.
Still, Zelda did not answer.
Link glanced up at her and saw that her face had practically turned to stone. He nudged her. "Hey."
Finally—finally—she looked back down at him. She swallowed, her lips pursed tightly; seemingly collecting herself in that one breath of time. Oh yes, she would make a grand ruler someday. But him? No, if Marguerite had her way, he would be long dead before he ever got the chance. "It's okay," she said after a second more. "We'll find a way to stop this. There's no way to know when and if she will even—"
"Zelda." Link cut her off. "Let's not fool ourselves into a false sense of security." He sat up straighter. "It's not 'if.' It's 'when.' We both know it's only a matter of time. We both know she's never loved either of us. What's to stop her?"
Zelda nodded, her eyes not meeting Link's. "I know. You've got to be careful, little brother. So, so careful. I'll only be living here for a few more months at the most—"
"I'll be on my own." Link sighed. "I'd be surprised if she hasn't already hired an assassin. I'm only in her and her child's way now, after all. I've become an obstacle. She has the entire kingdom at the edge of her fingertips. All she has to do is reach a little bit more, and—"
But Zelda shook her head, her honeyed blonde hair falling down around her face, as it wasn't put up in any fashion. "No, she would never be so stupid. They would know it was her who ordered it. There would be too many questions, too many suspicions... She'll wait, and she'll try and make it look like an accident. But she won't do it any time soon. I think..." she narrowed her eyes in thought. "I think that if we wait, and we plan, we'll be able to best her at her game, and expose her to Father."
Link rolled his eyes, feeling glum. "Marguerite exposing herself to father is how we got into this mess to begin with."
Zelda shoved him so hard that he fell of his stool and went sprawling onto the floor.
"Link!" she shrieked. "For the love of all that's holy, that is absolutely disgusting! I do not want to have to think about them doing that."
Link sat back, using his elbows to prop himself up. "What do you mean 'about them doing that?' Just say it. It's called having sex. It's a thing, Zelda."
She tossed a pillow at his head. "Shut up! Little brothers are horrid. I simply meant that I don't want to think of my father and his wife in the action of... of..."
He laughed and dodged her thrown pillow, and slowly began to forget his troubles. Zelda was right. The danger was real, and it was there, but if Marguerite was smart—and they both knew that she was—then she would not act for a while; possibly even years, surely. Link didn't think she was too desperate just yet. It would be alright for a time.
They squabbled for a bit more, tossing things at each other until they both collapsed on the floor, laughing and still swatting at each other.
"Do you want to go out?" Link asked, the idea having just sprung into his head.
Zelda turned her head to glance over at him. "Go out where?"
Link shrugged and sat up, trying to flatten down his hair again. "Dunno. Into the city for a bit. Just to have a look around. Have a last bit of fun before you get yourself promised to some king we don't even know."
A slow smile slid its way onto his sister's lips. "You're on," she said.
"Hey, Sheik, wait up," a somewhat familiar voice called from behind him on the darkening street. Sheik didn't have to look; he knew well enough who it was.
He scowled at the ground and kept walking. Not only did he have no desire to see Andrew at that moment—in fact, he'd been going to great lengths toavoid the inn—but considering what he was in Castle Town to do in a few days, he didn't want his name being shouted in the street, either. Really, considering that Andrew was the son of a man who dealt in shady business every day, Sheik would have thought that he would be smarter.
"Stop." Andrew's called, his voice more insistent now, more commanding.
Sheik sighed and stopped his brisk pace, waiting with his arms crossed.
"Take a walk with me," Andrew said lowly, grabbing Sheik's elbow with a tight grip and marching him forward.
"Bugger off," Sheik muttered, tugging on Andrew's hold to no avail. Good goddesses, he didn't look that strong... He was barely bigger than Sheik was, but his grip was otherworldly.
"No, I don't think so," Andrew growled back. "We're going for a nice chat so that I can figure out what the hell is wrong with you."
"Andrew, honestly, I'm fine! Alright?" Sheik continued to struggle. They made a right turn on the street that lead to the city's main square.
"If you're fine, then how come you can't even look me in the eye?"
"What happened to 'it's not like I'm trying to marry you?'" Sheik hissed, still fighting. "Why is this so important to you? Would you let me go?" He wrenched his arm away from Andrew with such force that he lost his footing and went stumbling backwards. And of course, as was his luck in life, he found himself reeling into something, knocking him and whatever—or whoever—it was over, landing right on top of whoever it was.
"That bloody hurt," a male voice groaned from beneath him. Sheik couldn't see who it was, because his head was currently lost in a tangle of fabric. He couldn't see anything.
"Fuck," Sheik muttered, pulling his head loose from whatever garment of this man's clothing that it had been lodged in and looked down at the person he was sprawled atop of.
He decided then that the Holy Goddesses, living in their halls of white marble stone somewhere up in the heavens must have had a personal vendetta to settle against him.
Because those blue eyes blinking up at him, and that tousled, mussed, golden blonde hair was all too sickeningly familiar. Because they belonged to the person he had been taking measures for the past week to hunt. To kill.
Sheik's heart lodged itself up in his throat, and his stomach dropped out his backside.
He'd knocked himself into the fucking Prince of Hyrule.
Who was... er, laughing... at him. And... And Sheik was sort of... tangled... with... with him.
"Shit!" Sheik squeaked. He'd like to say he growled it, or muttered it; but no, it came out as a faint squeak. He quickly cleared his throat as he looked straight up into the Prince's amused face. "Er... Sorry, I—" Great, just great. He sounded like a flustered girl.
The Prince's lips were pursed, and his eyes were alight with mirth. Sheik felt something—unease, perhaps—stir in his stomach. Yeah, definitely, uh... definitely unease.
"It's perfectly alright," the Prince said, his eyes still smoothing a path around Sheik's face. "Accidents do happen. I realize that. We're not going to throw you into the dungeons or anything."
The dungeons. Sheik's entire body tensed. He lost sight of the actual world for a moment, gone instead to the feeling of darkness and fear, and big hands pushing him down, and a pair of cold, red eyes watching from the doorway.
You have to go through it like the rest of us did, Sheik. What, you think you're better than everyone else here? They'll tire of you eventually, just take it like a man.
"But, unfortunately," the Prince said, interrupting the ongoing memory in Sheik's head. "I do think it's about time that you stopped lying on top of me."
Sheik couldn't think about what the Prince was saying to him, because his mind was a muddled mess of too many things. Over and over, something in him kept foolishly screaming do it now, just kill him now! And yet, at the same time, his instincts told him to get up and run. He couldn't do the job now, and it was stupid that he was even thinking of it. But his target was right there! He could be over and done with it!
He blinked, suddenly realizing that oh my fucking goddesses, he was sprawled on top of the bloody Prince of Hyrule, just staring at him like some sort of deranged loon.
"Look," the Prince said, smiling gently as he pushed his way up onto his elbows, Sheik sliding off of him a bit. And of all the things for Sheik's mind to be cataloguing at that moment, it had chosen to focus on the attractive way the Prince's eyes crinkled up in the corners when he smiled. "I like you very much too, whoever you are, but I'd like to stop reacquainting myself with the ground now, if that's alright with you."
Without saying a word, Sheik stood up and off the boy in a matter of seconds, so quickly it was like someone else was controlling his body, as if he were a puppet. He backed away a few steps, shoving his hands into his pockets, staring at his feet. He felt Andrew's shoulder brush his own as he walked up beside him.
Under his breath, Andrew muttered, "What the fuck did you do?"
Sheik looked up and threw a dirty glare in Andrew's direction, just as one of the many nearby guards came forward to help the Prince to his feet.
"I bet anything it was his fault, in the end," a low, feminine voice said from beside him. Sheik started, glancing to his other side, where a young woman wrapped in a cloak made of expensive-looking material stood. She was blonde, had blue eyes, and was watching Sheik with a careful expression, and oh fucking goddesses have mercy.
Not only had he crashed into the Prince of Hyrule, but it seemed he did it while said Prince was out for a stroll with his sister, the Princess of Hyrule.
All he could manage to do was swallow as Andrew gripped his arm and pulled. He had no idea why his words were failing him now. He normally always had a sharp retort or easy comeback to say to anything and everything. But come hell or high water, he swore that he would go to his grave blaming it on seeing the face he was meant to kill days before he was meant to kill it. He honestly couldn't explain it.
Right, he said to himself. We should go. Now.
As they edged away, the Princess's eyes flashed up to stare at them, a small smile quirking her lips. "Not yet," she said quietly, setting her eyes back on her brother, who was a few feet away, brushing himself off.
"I heard that, you know," the Prince called. "And it was only half my fault." He walked over, crossing his arms under his crimson red cloak. "It takes two people oblivious to the world to knock each other over." He grinned handsomely, raising his eyebrows in Sheik's direction, clearly looking for a reaction.
Sheik looked down at his feet again. He could not answer.
"We're terribly sorry, your Highnesses," Andrew said for him, moving his arm around Sheik's shoulders. "He really wasn't looking. Stupid of him. He's sorry."
Sheik glanced up. He just... the pure shame he felt at standing in the presence of this young life he was supposed to take. But the Prince... he was gazing straight at Sheik, with obvious mischief in his eyes. He was handsome, to say the least: with sunny, golden-blonde hair and dark, dark blue eyes.
"It's alright," the Prince said, dragging his eyes away from Sheik to look over at Andrew. "We're not going to have you thrown in the stocks, or into the prisons or anything. You can relax."
Sheik flinched at the mention of the word, not being able to help himself. Somehow having caught the change in Sheik's stance, the Prince turned his eyes back onto Sheik to regard him with open curiosity. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Sheik nodded roughly, his eyes narrowing as he continued struggling to keep in check whatever the hell was wrong with him. Andrew must have been noticed too, because he bumped his hip gently into Sheik to get his attention, casting him a worried glance.
Sheik knew he was being ridiculous. He pushed the sickly feeling down—practically wrestling it into submission—until he could manage the panic that was welling up in his chest. He cleared his throat; and finally, after far too much time, found his voice.
"I'm fine, my Lord. Thank you," he mumbled. And that's all he said, his eyes moving up and locking with the Prince's. There was still a hint of mischief there in those blue eyes, but mostly bewilderment, no doubt in response to Sheik's strange actions.
"Link, I think we should be going," the Princess murmured from beside Sheik after a long silence. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name at that moment. "It's getting dark. Father wouldn't like us out in the dark." She stared meaningfully back at her brother.
The Prince looked at her in a way that was clearly meant to only be understood by her. She gazed back evenly.
"We should be, as well," Andrew said, pulling at Sheik's shoulders. It must have been an odd sight, the two of them. Sheik was certainly taller than the young man currently trying to haul him away from the scene. The way he was being... manhandled away from the Prince and Princess—it... it struck a nerve. It was much the same as when the Prince had mentioned the prisons. He didn't like being forced. The past few years, he had usually been the one doing the forcing. It was sort of what his line of work entailed.
"Goodbye!" the Prince called after them, and Sheik barely had time to glance back and see the boy's sister rolling her eyes at him before he wrenched his shoulders away from Andrew and turned away without another word to any of them. And like earlier that day again, Sheik sought out solitude. He figured he could find some back at the inn, as long as he locked the door and ignored Andrew when he would no doubt come knocking to figure out what the bloody hell was the matter with him.
Sheik didn't even know what was the matter with him. It scared him sometimes, it really did.
"Sheik, please wait up!" Andrew called. Sheik could hear his rapid footsteps on the cobbled street, rushing to catch up with him. Sheik didn't slow, but he didn't try to get away, either. When Andrew caught up to him, breathing heavily from the run, he didn't touch Sheik. It seemed he had learned, or perhaps caught on to the deadly foul mood Sheik was in. They walked together in silence for a while, Sheik brooding the entire time. When they finally reached the inn, Andrew, as expected, followed him up the stairs, so Sheik made a detour and didn't go to his room like he wanted. He didn't really fancy Andrew being in there with him, not knowing when to take a hint and leave.
Instead, Andrew followed him out through the door at the end of the upstairs hall and onto the small deck looking out over the narrow, darkening street.
Sheik hurled himself against the railing and slumped against it, glaring at the shadowy street below him and the few people passing by, still out and about at the late hour. His tail coat picked up a bit in the breeze, fluttering around him. He could feel more than see Andrew lean his back against the rail next to him, his body angled towards Sheik, hands gripping the rail to support him.
Sheik just did his best to ignore him.
"About the sex," Andrew began. Sheik, exasperated, let out a loud groan, slumping even further against the railing.
"Oh, shut up and let me talk," Andrew snapped, a sharp tone to his voice.
Sheik turned the full force of his glare onto him, almost sneering. "Andrew, for the love of the goddesses, please learn when it's the right time to just shut up and back off."
"I just wanted to let you know..." he continued.
Sheik's narrowed his eyes even further.
"That it never has to happen again. But I don't regret a thing."
Sheik moaned aloud, letting half of his body fall over the other side of the railing. "Get me out of the city," he groaned.
Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm really, really enjoying writing this story.
Any comments/suggestions/whatever are appreciated via review or PM. Any speculations?