Confess

Contrary to popular belief it is neither fashionable, nor advisable to wear green in Hyrule.

Often it gets you nothing but trouble and – should you be male – the occasional female Zora assault.

No one knows the reason for the latter.

- Tips for the Traveling Tourist: Hyrule Kingdom

This was arguably the worst conjunction of conjoining events that could have possibly had the providence to unravel. In fact, Sheik was reasonably sure the only foreseeable way to worsen the already catastrophic situation would be the appearance of a particularly belligerent desert boar and several dust devils. In fact, those were the only nasty foreseeable events that hadn't occurred; so far every single unpleasant turn the Sheikah had attempted to avoid had – of course – bulled through his attempts and slammed into them. Then again, he reflected crossly, it wasn't like this was the first time seeing into the future had done him nil.

It was just so incredibly…unavoidable; each and every step of the way up to this debacle. The old magic needed to cross Realms in the first place was nigh well identical to, say, performing Zelda's most complex summoning incantation while simultaneously hopping on one foot and balancing an orange on one's head. That he'd expend more than an intelligent amount of energy booking across the inter-dimensional gaps was a given. But, being forced to expend even more of it tracking, trailing, and traversing after a Hero obnoxiously proficient at hiding himself was not something even he could See. Heap Zelda's most powerful and ancient enchanted weapon on that and – amazing! – there was a Path for disaster.

In retrospect, it was probably – well, certainly – an idiotic move to try a flashy bit of Light magic, while so dangerously low on Power, but at least Link had put an arrow through the Dark One's gut before he could be any more of a nuisance. Though, gifted as he was, Sheik doubted seriously the young ranch-hand could cough up enough magical energy for the immediate dispatch of five, most likely, hostile Gerudo.

Hopeful as usual though, his hand shifted unconsciously toward his quiver.

"No point," Sheik snapped impatiently. "Their sabers can block arrows."

The ranch-hand gave him a coolly defiant look, eyes irradiated powder blue and so blatantly Hylian they would give him away at forty paces and after making it clear it was a concession, he simply got on his horse. He looked absurdly small atop the enormous mare, tell-tale pale and like all of them Farore took – too young. Even in the dark, the most rookie Gerudo scout would peg him as an un-desert creature and mumbling in the corner of his Eye, dark and grotesque Paths were crawling forward from remote possibilities to more than likely futures.

"Just get behind me!"

Sheik was irked to hear a degree of a mild panic in his tone.

He kicked Kali forward to take point against the tribeswomen, but didn't fool even himself. Upstaging the panic he could hear the tired in his voice, thick and slurred as inebriation. He swallowed, sudden dryness itching in his throat and reached up to brush a hand to his temple, finding it too warm, his whole body too warm. He was dehydrated. He was drained. Already. They hadn't even crossed the Sea of Sand and he was physically crippling for no other reason than over exertion.

The horizon rolled off kilter, the pale blanket of sand swinging alarmingly into the sky as he sat there and the Sheikah tried desperately to clear the smear of exhaustion from his Sight. He closed his eyes, breathed. Nothing came to him; just a slurry of colorless motion and emotion roiling across the inside of his eyelids, the last dregs of his Power shuddering and twitching through his coiled muscles as he tried to find a way out. Nothing. He was blind in the Third Eye and he opened his two mortal ones to still catch a startling glimpse of the future.

He didn't like it much.

Beneath him, Kali shifted uneasily as the wind carried the scent of Gerudo horses to her. He leaned down and murmured familiar Sheikah words, outdated prayers for the most part – some of which he half-hoped someone might answer.

-green-

The Council had a bone to pick and little as she liked it she was rather required he ruler of a Realm show up to be bickered at for at least a little bit. Howll had been correct about one thing: the House of Lyrics was in a tizzy. At her left, standing just behind her in an attempt to meld into the shadow she cast, Howll was making funny, hyperventilation noises of panic…or maybe he was trying not to laugh. Midna could never quite tell with him really. You could threaten him with decapitation with a butter knife and he might not even flinch whereas mention of backlogged or mis-dated scrollwork sent him spinning out in a one-man emotional imbroglio.

Listening to the accusations mounting against her, Midna counted the number of times Sivu said the word 'outrageous' and lost count at forty-two. Sivu, the oldest living member of the House of Lyrics (and the oldest living Twili if Midna's last census had been correct), was a bent old conjurer dating back to the Dark Days. He was notorious for having fathered eight likely-looking sons by three wives, all eight of whom he was denying their inheritance by living so godsdamned long. It went without saying there had been assassination attempts, but nothing substantial over the last century.

Really, Lyre's death had been something of an improvement in the prospects of his seven brothers. Midna noted duly that Chord (the second eldest) was altogether ignoring the goings-on and humming happily to himself in the corner. He seemed to have preoccupied his thoughts with other things. Gradually Midna stopped staring at distracted prince and returned to Sivu's monologue, which seemed to be drawing to a close.

She leaned over. "Howll?"

"Hmm?"

"Summary?"

"You're a traitor to your people, again, quoting back to the Siege of Twilight and all that," murmured Howl surreptitiously. "Not a murderer, he's not playing that card, but he's making something of a case with that fact you killed a Twili in the name of a Light Dweller. He's not downplaying Link, which is a surprise, but he's saying your reaction was unwarranted and uncalled for."

Midna mulled this over while Sivu called her a couple names in Old Twili. "Anything else?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"I told you so."

She sat forward again and vowed to string her advisor by his toes later.

Having successfully communicated his utmost rage and indignation, the head of the House of Lyrics was at last calming himself from his fit. Midna straightened herself up accordingly and tried to appear as though she'd been very much enamored with his speech – most of which had been insults through extended metaphor – and not counting the number of runes on the elder's hairless head. As he turned to face her, he hobbled heavily on a tall ebon-wood staff. It was old wood, cut from the heart of an ebon tree some six hundred years before and still pulsing with the great plant's power. The heirloom of the House Lyrics.

"You, princess," said Sivu, his voice a low, croaky treble, shaky as the finger he pointed to her. "Your mind is no longer of the shadows, no longer in the Twilight Realm, but ensnared by the noontide of the Trio's Chosen, by a Light – hagh!" He bent suddenly, hacking and retching and Harmon (third eldest) rushed forward to help him. Cloudy eyes – once intense purple – glowed a dull, cobwebby mauve as he straightened. Midna perceived some malicious cleverness behind the crippled seeming of his age. "You are fading, my princess. The Children of Light have your heart, trapped like some pale fluttering thing in a web of fire gold –"

Midna stopped him with a hand. Silence descended on the Court.

"My heart is not an insect to be caught," said Midna. "My heart is not something you may profess to know, Sivu of the Lyrics. Do not attempt to sway this gathering with allusions to my disloyalties. I am the heir of the House of Midnight and you should do well to remember that the blood of my line had long defended the borders of our Realm, has long kept the Dark Horizon at bay."

Sivu bowed low. "I have not forgotten it."

"You do a poor job of showing it," snapped Midna, bright eyes narrowed. "Your son was caught in a treacherous design against the Hero of Twilight, to whom we owe a debt, Sivu. A debt." The gathered members of Twili murmured and stirred at this, excitement and discomfort like a shuddery breath through the great hall. The princess felt her throat constrict and her fingers curl on the arm of her throne. "And now the Hero is in grave peril, which I can do very little to relieve since the destruction of the great Mirror prevents a crossing of the Realms."

"A Mirror broken by you, my Princess," Sivu reminded her.

"A Mirror that was broken to assure that my loyalties and the safety of this realm should never again be threatened by what troubles come from the Light," retorted Midna. "The Hero is an ally and my comrade and your kin have put him in danger and for what? To test my loyalties?" She very nearly spat. "It is your loyalty I question, Sivu. Lyre unleashed the One Unnamed. That alone calls for his death. He spoke against me and, Sivu, no one speaks against me. Last, Lyre was a fool and not worthy of the power you would have left to him and I regret killing him, never."

Behind her she heard Howll breathe a soft sigh of relief and grinned inwardly.

'That should shut them up for a bit.'

Sivu again bowed low to her. "I do not question your decision in killing Lyre, my lady; that was a choice made in good judgment," he said humbly. "Nor do I question your decision to break the Mirror of Twilight. All of these were sound rulings." Midna felt this was going altogether too smoothly. The leader of House Lyrics lifted his head slightly. "What I do question, Midna, is how you discovered the scheme of my son at all."

Midna blinked.

Howll, at her side, tensed.

'Oh! You old bastard! That's your game!' she cursed.

The old Twili straightened himself again, leaning still heavily upon his staff as he peered blearily up at her on her throne. "What…what," he stuttered, "business did the Princess of Twilight have in the Dark Realm that could have led her to discover anything amiss at all? Your duties do not require you to scout the Dark Horizon. That is a task left to the House of Serenity and the House of Rage and their scouts have told my men, upon casual inquiry, that you have been talking your 'walks' out beyond the Veil. They tell me you search the ruins of the Dark Kingdoms, hunting through murk and shade for prizes unknown."

Sivu, Midna noticed ironically, was no longer bowed with age, but seemed quite fierce and hale. Straight-backed and staring piercingly up at her from the raised dais before her throne.

"Tell us, princess, what do you seek in the Black Towers beyond the Waste?" he inquired slyly.

The gathered Court burst into excitable murmurings, the interest and morbid fascination of every Twili piqued. He had their attention, curse him, and he was making quite a scandal of this thing she'd been so certain was a secret and now she had no time for formulating defenses. Howll had stepped close enough to lay a hand on the arm of her chair behind her elbow, brushing her skin in a desperate ploy for her caution. She could feel him having a panic attack behind her. Midna closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself.

"You sent your spies to watch me?" she inquired.

"Not spies, my princess, merely a few rangers to guard you," Sivu assured her. "I requested them from the Houses of Dusk and Murmur."

Midna cursed again, blocked against accusing falsehoods against the man's witnesses. Dusk and Murmur were Houses loyal to Midnight and she knew these Twili rangers well. They would not lie for Sivu and that made their reports credible before the Court whether to her benefit or not. Several members of said families looked stricken, seeing their place in the design of House Lyrics. But Sivu was not through, he turned suddenly to the gathered House of Murmur and gestured his staff toward one of the men nearest him.

"Come, Tale," he said, waving. "Tell us of your lady's ventures into the Dark. Come, don't shrink." A lasso of power looped and pulled the startled ranger from the ranks of his family, staggered into the open. "Speak, ranger, I would have the Court hear it."

The younger Twili threw off the power with a fury in his eyes and expression. "Order me not, old fool!"

"You'll hold your tongue," snapped an elder from the sidelines.

"He's not an underling of Lyrics!" someone retorted immediately.

"Silence," came another.

"Who told you –?"

"Sivu holds rite here, Melodi."

"Old fool of a –"

"– utter disrespect."

"Stop it, children, or shall I place you in corners?" Midna inquired mildly of the bickering Houses. Silence fell again and when all the families had settled, to Tale she gave her attention, pursing her lips. "Do as he says," she said quietly. Tale was a friend. "There is no wrong on your behalf."

He looked apologetically to her. "My princess, I spoke to friends in confidence of your outings, thinking my thoughts guarded. I was ordered to follow you into the Dark Realm. From where the orders came, I knew not and saw them wise so I obeyed. From a distance I saw you search the Black Tower."

Sivu stepped in again. "Thank you, ranger," he said dismissively. "You've done well."

Tale stiffened.

Howll was grinding his teeth audibly.

"You'll not address members of any House that way," Midna said sharply to the conjurer. "Tale of Murmur is not your underling or mine. You forget our customs."

Sivu laughed. "Customs? You speak of customs having broken one of our greatest boundaries? The Black Tower is a forbidden place, a cursed and forgotten citadel that no Twili may venture to, be she princess or lowly ranger." Ugly bursts of muttering greeted this smear and Midna bit back a hot head-rush of vengeful magic. Sivu was sneering now, cruel and cunning. "Only a queen may venture there, which you are not. Our Law demands you speak of your purpose in breaking this taboo lest we call our penalties upon you. I ask again: What were you searching for in the Black Tower?"

Midna – in a moment of sudden fear – hesitated.

"There is only one artifact in the Black Tower!" Sivu spat.

"You do not –!" Midna essayed, but too late.

"You sought the Dark Mirror!" crowed the ancient Twili. "You sought that which may bring you to the Light once more!"

"I sought no such thing!" Midna cried, but her protest was ill-made. Her hold on this council was slipping and sure as shadows in a sunset, dark fingers of doubt and resent were sliding through the gathered Twili.

"The Dark Mirror," repeated Melodi of House Dusk, heir of her bloodline. Her voice was awe and utter terror. "It lies in the Black Tower?"

Midna fought back her own rising – was it panic? – anxieties and nodded. "It does. The House of Script keeps the records."

Howll's fingers were a fist near her elbow, shaking slightly. He'd given her those scrolls to read, he'd suggested them to her ages ago for the 'betterment of her knowledge' he'd said sarcastically. He was recalling that day with some regrets she imagined. The stage had been set and Midna had not foreseen this in her stratagem against the House of Lyrics, had not realized how far ahead her opponent's foresight outstripped her own. She failed to keep her secrets in the labyrinths of her heart.

"It was rumored," Midna said softly, seeing the structure of her entrapment even as she spoke, "that Ganon's dark artifact was a portal through which one might escape through to the Hyrule Kingdom. The One Unnamed was sent through that way before, and he escaped through that way now." She gazed at the back of her own hand, as if in wonder. "It was hidden there. A twisted perversion of the Mirror of Twilight and I sought it to find if the rumors spoke any truth."

"This is…" Melodi struggled for words.

"Outrageous," Sivu finished. His lips curled. "This treachery occurred before the release of the One Unnamed. Your reasons to seek the Dark Mirror were your own." He smiled a thin, white smile as his fangs were sharp as her own and unbroken. "You've been caught, princess, seeking the Light and caught by the Light. Your heart lies with one of the Goddesses' Chosen in the noontide of Hyrule."

Midna rose from her throne, her face a serene and cool mask. "Then you have caught me in my weakness, Sivu. I congratulate you."

The Court burbled. Howll hissed an alarmed 'Midna!' at her back, but she ignored it.

"You confess then?" Sivu demanded eagerly, eyes shining in wickedness.

Quietly she regarded him, her eyes the color of thoughtful sunset, her flaming hair clothed in the dark robes of her royal bloodline, the bright stone of Midnight set in her brow. She regarded him as a queen, crowned and proud. Even as she did, though, she could see the trap so clearly, wrought by her own hands by her treacherously restless heart. Eager and unflagging and so utterly selfish, it had betrayed her. Her love of her people had been diminished and she had not fully grasped the reason – or not openly allowed herself to grasp it – until now. Why her devotion to her duty no longer defined the shape of her heart.

"I confess," she whispered.

Midna smiled; a thin and bittersweet grin.

"I love the Hero of Twilight."

-green-

"Just get behind me!" Sheik ordered angrily.

Link heard the sudden tension in his usually dismissive tone, a cutting urgency not unlike the kind he took on when the Shadow was present and slavering for blood. The seer was looking unwell to say the least and on the razor edge of collapse to say the worse. His narrow shoulders were hunched in the moonlight, his hands clenched in the thick of his horse's mane, pale head bowed like a man catching his breath. The tang of magic had waned to only a faint lemony smell on the wind, barely crossing the threshold of perception to Link, indicating to the young hero that the Sheikah's magic was perhaps at its end.

His comrade seemed to gather himself somehow, breathing deeply and going still for a period. Link restlessly ran his thumb up and down the leather of Epona's reins, trying to feel in his hands the surge of power he'd placed in his bow only moments before. Sheik had placed the spell on the weapon, but Link had felt the energy drain out of him with each bolt, as if the feathered shafts had sucked the vitality off his soul to power their purpose. Perhaps they had, Link didn't feel he had the energy for a third bolt, some deep place in him aching hollowly where the Light Arrows had drawn off his strength.

"When they come," Sheik said suddenly, "don't speak. Avoid their eyes if you can, cheh, and for the Goddesses' sake, don't attack them unless they attack us. I doubt you can slay five Gerudo, as I'm currently not a match for even one."

This was alarming coming from the Sheikah, who up until now had been more or less an unspoken source of reassurance. It spoke of a very real danger and a very real weakness now, if the seer was professing his disabilities to the former ranch-hand. Link kept his bow at the ready, watching the pale curls of sand rising toward them and the silhouettes of women in the darkness, mounting and riding unsaddled. Even from a distance, Link could see they used no bridals and the eyes of a ranch-hand told him their mounts were four mares and a small, angry stallion. They all rode expertly.

Sheik rose in his stirrups suddenly, lifting an arm and his voice in greeting, slipping into yet another tongue of the desert. He shouted something to the approaching women, who made no answer besides urging their mounts into a faster gallop. The seer didn't react to this, only sat back, bright eyes glittering in the dark.

"What business," came a snarl, "does a Sheikah have in Gerudo lands?"

The woman that spoke checked her horse with practiced fluidity, stopping only yards off from Kali, who snorted and stamped until Sheik soothed her. The other four reined in behind her, peeling away and fanning out until they effectively surrounded the two travelers, looking unfriendly and dangerous in the silver moonlight. Even in the dark, their hair glittered deep copper red and hung in long plaits down their slender backs. Their leader, on the stallion, bore a small chakra stone on her brow and was all dressed in white, her breasts bound in an embroidered white cloth, her loose-fit leggings white and silken. The other four were dressed similarly in magentas and reds, but wore sheer veils over their faces.

Only the leader was bare-faced.

"I said what business do you have here?" the Gerudo spat, her eyes flashing pale gold in the dark. Her accent was heavy and precise. "Speak quickly!"

The others made ready with desert glaives, curved blades set on long poles, based bound in red cloth to catch blood. Link watched them through the corner of his eye only, keeping Sheik's warnings in mind. The Gerudo were all very tall, all taller than he and Sheik by nearly half a head. Aside from leggings, soft shoes and their meager shirts the Gerudo wore little else, only a saber tucked in the sash at the hip and simple gold bangles about darkly skinned arms and wrists. Each of them looked…strong, wiry. Link believed Sheik when he said they were strong as men. Pale eyes gleamed cat-like and keen with interest, watching him so intensely he felt it physically.

"We flee an enemy," Sheik said simply.

The woman snorted. "An enemy? I see no enemy here and none for miles. Who is this enemy you flee?"

"A dark creature, set on our trail by magic and malice. We mean to destroy it," Sheik said quietly. "You saw the magic I used against it in the distance. A powerful spell that will only buy us time, cheh. He will return." There was a long pause, in which Sheik grew annoyed. "You know I speak no lie, Djiin."

The leader, Djiin, laughed raucously, throwing her head back. "What's this, the proud Sheik of the Sheikah without wit?" She smirked, drawing her saber from her hip and leveling at Sheik's chest. Link stiffened. "Or perhaps this is the Seer of the Desert, at last without strength to resist the Gerudo."

It was spoken in jest, but Sheik didn't react and didn't reply which only served to amuse her to smile slowly. Her teeth shone very white and even in the nubile dark of her face. She kicked her mount forward, bringing the stallion almost alongside Kali, bringing the masked seer within reach of her blade. Murmurs and giggles passed between the Gerudo, lovely, feminine and utterly brutal somehow. The Sheikah ignored them, his gaze fixed coldly on Djiin, whom he seemed to know best of the gathered tribeswomen. She paused to gloat a little before going on.

"You are weak, aren't you?" she marveled.

"Kill him, Djiin!" said one eager Gerudo.

"Yes. Spill his filthy blood!" urged another.

"Silence," she said, off-hand, still gazing in delighted shock at her captive. "Answer me, Sheik. If I wanted to kill you now, could you stop me?"

"Shaa, you've always had Paths to kill me," replied Sheik cryptically. "You've just been blind to them."

"You and your tricks."

"Not tricks, Djiin. Truth."

The woman sighed. "I grow weary of your riddles, Sheikah. I can see you've no strength in you; your body shakes even as I stand here." The edge of her blade settled just below Sheik's collarbone. "I would wager," she whispered wickedly, "that I could have a look under the mask even." The other Gerudo shrieked with laughter Link didn't understand and a strange flutter of fear washed through the Ordonian, followed by a slow burning anger. Even with his face downcast, he couldn't keep his eyes fixed obliviously on the sand as Sheik would have liked. He looked up and – as always – his gaze was felt.

Djiin turned her golden stare on Link. "He's not of the desert," she said mildly, studying him.

The Gerudo on his left flicked her glaive under his chin and startled his face up. The rider made a soft, appreciative noise in her throat and said something quickly to Djiin in their own tongue, laughing as one pleasantly surprised. Link caught the word 'Hylian' in her slurry of alien syllables and knew his race was being discussed. The other Gerudo were watching him now, their pale eyes searching and focused on something he didn't care speculate.

"You keep good company," said Djiin to the man beside her. The seer looked decidedly unhappy. "You must have hoped to pass through our territory unnoticed, yes? Trespass on our lands with so rare a thing as a Hylian warrior with you."

"Do not make rash decisions," Sheik warned. His red eyes were sharp and dangerous.

"It's not rash, if the favor is mine." She jerked her chin. "Nilif. Mataj."

The two Gerudo flanking him moved at once, kicking their mares forward. Link raised his hands disarmingly as their blades moved in toward his torso, brooking no trickery. Epona huffed and stomped irritably at the approach of other horses. Link noted with amusement that the wild seeming desert horses shied from the grouchy cart horse. One nickered and cantered back and the women riding her shot him a startled, suspicious look but Link just shrugged a little. Nilif, the one on the left, jabbed him somewhat roughly with the end of her blade.

"Toss your weapons to Miki," she said, indicating the Gerudo beside her. "Slowly, or I'll cut that pretty face."

No giggling this time, but Link sensed hidden smirks as he carefully un-shouldered his quiver and threw it to the woman, then his bow. He un-strapped the sword from his hip, sheath and all, and tossed it to her las, though, somewhat reluctantly. While he disarmed Sheik exchanged Gerudo words with Djiin, heated words if his low, growling tone was any indication. She seemed to have a rare upper-hand and as such, was taking time to enjoy it. She smiled as Sheik argued with her, watching his battered hands making flighty diving and directive gestures doing nothing to persuade her.

She said something sarcastic.

Sheik said something short and unpleasant.

She retorted.

He replied.

She cut his forearm with her saber.

Link snarled, Epona leaping forward eagerly at the nearest desert pony and snapping her teeth at them. Four razor sharp glaives dove at his upper body and he checked his mount stiff again, lest he impale himself on one of the extended weapons. Pale eyes were narrow slits above silken veils, glittering and perilous in their well-shaped faces. Djiin watched Link's reaction with thinly veiled annoyance and Sheik was giving him a look none-to-pleased himself. The wound was shallow, but that did nothing to quell the injustice of it, he and Sheik having yet done nothing to warrant such an attack.

Blood dripped and soaked into the sand between the horse's hooves, the desert drinking the spilled liquid thirstily. No one else noticed, save Link, but the ground where the red droplets fell seemed to shimmer briefly. Then the sand shifted and even the stains of red were sucked down beneath the grains. The Ordonian averted his gaze, the scent of blood and citrus magic stinging his nose and he knew instantly Sheik had plagued these Gerudo for a time far longer than his seeming age. Even his blood had a dusty scent, an ancient smell.

Well, these girls are plainly overstepping their bounds then, aren't they? said Midna's ghost quite clearly. Respect old magic, you should. It's proper manners and all that.

The Divine Beast agreed.

Link glared at the Gerudo next to him and she jerked back, startled by his sudden fierceness and her mare whinnied in dismay. The other horses stirred and only Epona seemed bored with the goings on, gazing dolefully about, hoping to trample at least one of these cheeky women and their dainty little horses. The Ordonian frowned slightly, blinking as something rushed through him. There was a strange shiver in his skin, crawling through his bones and Link pretended to massage a kink in his wrist while it passed. It felt hot and sudden, pleasure and pain. It felt wolfish.

"Your friend is unruly," said Djiin. She seemed unnerved.

"He's not of the desert, cheh. He knows nothing of this world," said Sheik evenly. His eyes were on Link too. "We mean only to pass through, as you said. Let us do that. The Path we are set upon is not one you want a part of."

Djiin inspected her bloodied weapon. "This blade is unclean," she said regretfully. "That was a mistake I suppose, I liked this sword." She wheeled her horse to the dawning horizon. "You and your Hylian friend come with us to our encampment. Nooru will want to see you. She is the High Priestess of the Spirit Temple and you'll answer to her as to what your purpose is in the desert."

"Did you stop speaking Gerudo in the last ten years?" Sheik burst out angrily. "Or did you simply ignore all I said? The Shadow will follow us wherever we might go and slay all who stand between him and his prey. That is a darkness your priestess cannot contend with."

"You speak what you think is Truth," said Djiin thoughtfully. "But you've been wrong before."

"We cannot waste the daylight!" shouted Sheik.

Djiin turned her deadly eyes on him, contempt in every line of her face. "The words of a Sheikah mean nothing to those of Gerudo blood. You go to Nooru." She turned away from the furious seer. "If anyone's to kill the last true Sheikah, it will have to be her." She glanced surreptitiously at Link. "What happens to the Hylian lies with her judgment."

"You'll regret that," Sheik spat. "And that is True."

Then they set off, captives and captors, in the opposite direction Link's instincts said they were to go.

Author's Note:

GryphonDown asked a very good question recently: 'How the bloody hell can the Sheikah have been extinct for over two-hundred years if Impa was around just a few generations earlier during the events with the Hero of Time?' Well, I guess that's my own fault, for getting wrapped up in my history theories. Sorry. It's all tied up in the history of the Sheikah and the sundering of Those That See. Put simply, some went, some stayed. Sheik will explain the details in a later chapter or at least I think he will. I'm actually surprsied no one else noticed that little timeline tic.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the first actually romantic thing I've written…ever. Someone said 'I love…' I don't think I've done that before. I don't even really support Midna/Link. How the hell did she fall in love him? Was I not paying attention or something? Jeez…

Reviews make my heart soar and my fingers type-crazy. Laterz!