She could see the young man in the white linen standing before the gate of the fortress, looking up the parapets. She felt so empty watching the dreamy desert landscape fade in and out of the wind and sand beyond him. She without being able to discern the words, she could hear his voice only slightly above the howling storm, and despite the thick veil of sand that forced her to screw her eyes tight, she could see him there.

"…"

And behind her, she felt another presence. He stood there, his armored arms crossed around her waist, his breathing stroking her cheek. His fingers grazed across her stomach and she knew that she could never escape.

"I've come," she heard the young man in front of her say. But she shut her eyes this time and closed her ears, fully embracing the darkness that held her captive from behind.

"You're mine," the one behind her said, and she was resigned.

Din's Blessing

by eolianstar

Zelda: Ocarina of Time © Nintendo

Rated for suggestive themes

P a r t . E i g h t : Yori

It happened in the early morning when the sun was still sleeping and the Thieves were saddling their horses for the day's raid. She saw the shadow on the ground below her first, and then the blur of scarlet in the air as she turned.

The immediate reaction was to take a side step, which she did, and saved her own life. But she was not fast enough as to evade the blade. Her own blade flashed in her hand as she stroked it out of the scabbard. She felt it strike something solid as she felt a sharp, intense pain on her left shoulder.

The Thief who had attacked her landed on the ground near her feet, and Moira felt something wet hit her foot. She could see that her assailant was wounded in the arm, but there was a clear look of hatred in those eyes above the veil. She sprang forward with her blades raised as Moira raised hers to defend herself.

The clanging attracted attention, and the other Thieves stood around like silent redstone statues. Moira did not bother wondering why nobody intervened. Instead, she simply allowed her left arm to fall uselessly at her side and focused on the speed of her right hand's attacks. With each movement, a throbbing pain flared up and the blood spattered her clothes. Even with only one hand, she clearly had the upper hand.

Bothersome, she thought through gritted teeth, thoroughly annoyed with the situation. The ferocity with which her adversary moved suggested to her that she harbored a personal grudge. The attacks were fierce, but uncoordinated, as if they were made in desperation or rage, or a combination of both. At last, Moira found an opening and hit the wrist of her assailant with her saber hard enough to bite through the leather gauntlet. The woman cried out and dropped her blade, allowing enough time for the Queen to deliver a similar blow to the other hand as she kneed the uncovered stomach just beyond.

The woman collapsed, and as quick as a thought, the cold line of a blade was pressed into the back of her neck. Then, Moira observed her wound for the first time, and grimaced as the pain increased just by her looking at it.

"Uncover her veil," she ordered one of the Thieves that had been standing about. When the woman's face was uncovered, she spat at the Queen's feet. She was an older woman, the paint on her eyes smeared with the sweat that dripped down her brow. Moira recalled that her name was Yori, and that she was notorious for consistently throwing herself upon the King. The fact that he now had a Queen made no difference to his promiscuous habits. After Farah's fall, Yori became one of his favorite lovers… but this made no difference to the special, sadistic attention he paid to the young Queen of the Gerudo.

And she understood, because Yori's obsession with the King would lead her to do such a fanatical thing. That sort of obsession made much sense to her.

"Take her away," the Queen said, and started to turn away, but the King spoke.

"There's no need," the King said. "Execute her on the spot, my Queen, for it is your right."

He came up to them, handing his steed off to one of the stable girls. He never looked at Yori, still immobilized under Moira's blade, straddled between two other Thieves. From angle, Moira was the only one who could see the shock in the woman's face. Suddenly she was struck with the memory of the time Farah had defeated and humiliated her. The feeling was so familiar, and it made her sick to her stomach.

After a long stretch of silence, the Queen spoke, and sheathed her weapon.

"Then I defer my right. I'm leaving."

Before she could even fully turn, the King spoke again, and Yori's neck slashed open.

There was no way Moira could ever adequately describe that moment. The blood gushed out like a fountain, splattering out and staining the clothes and cheeks and hair of everyone who stood near. For a brief moment, the scene reminded her of when she had watched one of the stolen cattle being slaughtered once, when the blade was brought down to sever the head clean through. The warmth spattered against her skin in dots, and Yori's full head, hair and all, fell and rolled so that those shocked eyes stared up at her. The body followed, spraying two Thieves, who screamed.

And covered in her assailant's blood, Moira stood with an expression on her face that was of true horror. Despite those months and months she had spent building up the façade of emotionless leader, she stared at those shocked eyes staring back up at her from the level of her feet. The King was still a little bit of a distance away, his hand slightly raised. There had always been rumor that the King could use magic, most likely the legacy of his godmothers. There was no doubt now.

"Are you satisfied then?" he said in a dangerously calm voice, and the whole company shuddered. But Moira failed to answer as she stood in that silence with the blood soaking into her thin leather sandals. She was too busy holding her breath, trying so hard not to catch the metallic stench\, trying so hard not to vomit.

The King laughed, pointing to one of the Guard with a loose gesture. "Clean that up and finish the rest of the preparations. We have lost precious time."

The Queen of the gerudo sat in the isolation of her room, ignoring the stinging pain on her neck and shoulder while looking out into the darkness of the night. The wind rustled through the silk draperies, causing the light from the candle to flicker dimly and bounce a dull light off of the golden silk of her royal clothes. She had taken off all the golden jewelry - her only adornment was that white linen bandage around her neck and shoulders.

She had stayed behind that day. The pounding of hooves from the returning raiders could be heard from her room, and she watched as the dark figures passed across the landscape in a cloud of sand. She could see him clearly as he passed on his reins to a lesser gerudo, his cape covering him as it fluttered in the breeze.

"My Queen." The voice startled her, and if someone had been in the room to see it, they would have jumped too, because her reaction was so sudden. "Prince Azhaer is crying and will not stop."

She did not move for a long while, and remained at the window, watching until all the raiders were gone. When she stepped out of her room, the servant girl was still waiting anxiously at the door, and looked relieved when her call was answered.

On their way to the prince's chambers, they turned a corner and Loa was approaching them from the opposite direction, her hand grasping a sheathed saber.

"My Queen," the gerudo artisan bowed in greeting, but Moira did not react. Whether it was the sourness of Meela's expression or the sadness of Tamar's voice, she chose to no longer acknowledge her old friends. It was because they had betrayed her, she thought in her mind. They had refused to listen to her or understand her. After the birth of the prince, a new tension was also birthed between her and her former companions, as if the Aru they had once known had ceased to exist altogether. They were strangers to each other.

I am alone, Moira had decided long ago. Even Din has abandoned me.

But unlike many previous awkward confrontations, Loa chose not to be simply ignored and stopped Moira's stride by addressing her once more.

"My Queen, just a moment. Please take this," she said, her eyes low as she presented the sheathed blade in both hands and held it out. The Queen of the gerudo looked upon the offering with indifferent eyes. It was very familiar, but her eyes betrayed no sense of recognition.

"Take it," she ordered the servant girl. Without a further word, she continued on down the hall with Loa bowing in her wake.

Once they were getting close to the child's chambers, they could hear the crying even around the corner. Inside the room, many of the lesser gerudo were surrounding the baby, cooing and tenderly stroking the child, attempting to appease him with no success. The woman holding the prince herself looked very unhappy and seemed as if she wanted to cry herself as he started to scream at the top of his lungs.

When they noticed the queen, they were all too relieved to remember to bow. Azhaer, as if sensing his mother's presence, became silence almost instantly, the tears from his large amber eyes staining his face. He was such a beautiful child, even though still an infant, and when he reached out for her, it was almost heartbreaking to all who observed him.

And yet she was unfeeling as she took him in his arms, clenching her teeth with annoyance while grimacing with the pain in her shoulder. It was a mystery to all those in the room why the prince was so attached to a mother who was clearly indifferent to him. She was the only one in the entire fortress who could silence his tantrums, even though she never went to see him on her own accord.

But he carried his blood, as well as hers. As she cradled the boy and felt him fall asleep against her, she could never forget that fact. It seemed too ironic then, that she was holding in that moment the one thing Yori had coveted the most but could never give to the King herself. She paid the price for her jealousy.

When Azhaer had fallen asleep, she passed him onto one of his nurses without looking behind her. As her servant girl escorted her back to her own room, she asked for the saber that Loa had given to her.

She pulled out half of the blade, seeing all its familiar scratches and cracks. For a moment she recalled the scent of Loa's smithy and all the times she had gone to see her friend, how she had met that girl named Nabooru, how things were so different then with all her dreams.

And for some reason, as she looked on her own old blade, she felt a sense of regret and resented Loa for reminding her of all that she had lost. She gave it back to the girl and before retreating back into her quarters, gave her orders.

"Throw it away."