Chapter 14: Unbalanced Heart
When Darion finally left the pub in one of the seedier quarters of Keeptown, night had fallen and the streets would have been pitch dark if not for the light of the moon hanging in the sky above town, perfectly circular. It was only thanks to that light that the prince managed to avoid several painful collisions with buildings as he swayed through the empty streets toward the Keep. He was very determined to make it there, and very determined to speak to his father and set things right between them once and for all. His father was a strict, but reasonable man. He would listen to him.
Darion did not even remember clearly why he had even left the Keep in the first place. Everything was hazy, except for his determination to end the stupid quarrel between father and son.
Why did we even argue in the first place? Something about three forces? Uh. That doesn't make sense.
It doesn't matter. We'll resolve this, even if I have to wake him.
The Keep's towers and battlement loomed high over its namesake town, so Darion could easily find his way there even in his clouded state of mind. The street he was taking ended at the corner of the Keep, below one of its four towers, and he walked along the outer wall toward the main gate, occasionally leaning against the massive stone wall when he was in danger of losing his balance. About halfway between the tower and the main gate, he spotted two dark, slim figures pressed against the wall, one of them helping the other in an attempt to climb it.
"Hey," Darion called out, his voice scratchy and not nearly as loud and imposing as he would have liked it, "what are you doing there?" He might not be on top of his game right now, but he knew that people trying to sneak into the Keep was very likely a bad thing.
Upon hearing him, the two figures stopped what they were trying to do and looked at each other for a moment, then rushed toward Darion, who was in no shape to fend them off. One of them circled behind him and restrained his arms behind his back, while the other covered his mouth with one hand, the other pointing a heavy sabre at his throat.
"Don't try to run or shout, or you're dead!" the figure hissed. Darion saw that she was a woman whose body and face head covered by a white cloak.
That's stupid, he thought. If you're trying to sneak in somewhere during the night, you dress in black, not white.
"Do you understand?" she whispered angrily.
Darion nodded. Even through the haze, he realized that he was in a very dangerous situation, and not in a condition to fight, and so he would do as he was told.
"Good. We'll let go now. Don't do anything stupid!"
The woman let go off his mouth while still pointing her weapon at his throat, and the one behind him released the hold on his arms and appeared before him, wearing the same white cloak as the other woman. She was the same height, too, and had drawn a similar dagger, and their tanned face beneath the hoods were identical as well.
"I'm having double vision," Darion groaned. "I should have listened to the barkeep and not drunk that much."
"He looks pretty strong," one of the woman said to the other, "but he isn't armed and seems kind of drowsy. See his glassy eyes?"
"Maybe he's ill?"
"Hey," Darion babbled, "don't talk about me like I'm not here! That's disrespectful." He hiccuped.
"Oh, now I get it," one woman realized. "He's drunk."
"I'm not drunk. I only drank a little."
"A perfect example for the decadence of Hylians," she continued. "Wasting valuable fruit in order to make a drink that will only make you sick and stupid."
The two women started an argument, something about slitting somebody's throat, and disobeying the king's orders. Darion couldn't quite follow it, because nausea overcame him, and he had to throw up against the Keep's wall.
I'm just not used to drinking. Why did I even... ah yes, because of father.
Father. I have to see him. Set things right.
"I'm going home now," he announced and tried to move around the women, but they easily grabbed him again.
"Just let him go," one of them whispered to the other. "He won't remember us thirty seconds from now. We'll try on the other side. Come on."
"You are insufferably soft-hearted. Fine, it's on your head." She sighed. "Why am I doing this?"
"Because otherwise you'd be bored?"
"Perhaps so."
The two women scurried along the wall into the direction from which Darion had come and quickly vanished behind the tower at the Keep's corner.
What was all this about? Darion wondered, but only for a short while. Then he remembered that he really had to see his father, and made his way to the main gate. The guards who were keeping watch hastily opened the small side door once they recognized him. Noticing his condition, they offered to escort him to his room, but he declined.
One of the guards ran off to inform somebody of the prince's arrival while his comrades asked Darion to stay with them, but the prince did not care about their fussing and went on his way. He staggered through the empty, torch-lit corridors of the Keep toward the throne room, wondering whether his father was still up.
Probably not. I'll have to wake Malark to open his room. Or just knock real loud.
He arrived in front of the throne room, which was guarded by the usual two soldiers, and asked: "Is my father in there?"
The two men looked at the prince in shock, then at each other, making Darion wonder whether he had said something wrong again.
"Y-yes, your highness, he's in there, but..." The guard looked as if he had eaten something bad. "Hasn't anybody told you?"
"Told me what?" Darion hiccuped again.
"You tell him," the guard whispered to his comrade.
"No way! Look at him, he's drunk! In his condition, who knows how he'll react-"
"Why does everybody say that I'm drunk? It was just a couple of... a couple of..." Darion's voice trailed off, and he was in danger of losing balance again.
"Come, your highness," one of the guards approached him, "I'll help you to your room. Tomorrow-"
"Not tomorrow!" Darion shouted, getting highly irritated. Why were they trying to stop a son from seeing his father? "I order you to let me through! I'm the prince!"
"Fine, I'll say it," one guard resigned himself, and looked Darion in the eyes. "My prince, please listen to me. Your father died yesterday evening."
"You mean he was killed," the other guard interjected.
"Idiot! That's not proven, and he doesn't need to know-"
"Oh come on, of course it was the desert rat!"
"Dead?" Darion asked confusedly. "Who's dead?" He thought he had heard his father being mentioned, but that could not possibly be right. It must have been be the haziness. "Who's dead?" he repeated.
"Your father, the king. I am sorry. It was said that he died peacefully."
"Yes, murdered peacefully," the other guard scoffed, but was silenced by a quick glare from his comrade.
"Father is dead..."
At another time, in another place, those words might have formed a meaningful sentence. But not here, not now that Darion had to talk to him so desperately.
"I'm going to see him now," he said, and before the guardsmen could react, he had pushed aside their crossed lances and threw open the double doors of the throne room. The motionless body of his father was lying in state on a waist-high pedestal wearing his finest red robes, his hands folded over his chest and a hint of a smile on his face.
The haze around Darion's mind was instantly dispelled, as if a fierce gale had blown it away. His father was dead, right before his eyes, and there was no way he could deny it any longer. He realized how much the old man had still meant for him, even though their relationship had somewhat deteriorated even before the incident in the Sacred Realm. But nothing changed the fact that he had still been his father.
"Why now?" he rasped. "Why at this time? I just wanted to apologize and make peace with you. How could you leave me now?"
A lump formed in his throat, and Darion fought against tears. No crying! Not while two soldiers were standing behind him, surely giving him pitiful looks.
"Did you hate me in the end?" he whispered. "Did you die hating your own son?"
Somebody entered the throne room behind him, and he heard the doors being closed.
"Leave me alone," Darion said without turning around.
"My prince," the dry, scratchy voice belonging to Malark said, "you have my deepest condolences. I had no way to contact you, or I would have informed you myself."
Darion did not want to talk to Malark right now, did not want to hear the reassuring, yet empty phrases he was bound to drone.
"I said leave me alone."
"I assure you," Malark continued, disregarding Darion's wish, "that the full truth about your father's death will be brought to light. If it is proven to have been murder, the culprit will pay with his life."
Murder! I remember now, that guard talked about it!
Darion turned around and looked at the old wizard who was standing in front of the closed door with his his gaze downcast.
"Look at me, Malark. Who murdered him?"
"We suspect the king of the Gerudo tribe who came here yesterday evening. He entered your father's chambers and returned nary a minute later, claiming that the king was already dead. We're currently holding him in the Keep's dungeon. I was going to interrogate him tomorrow-"
"I'll lead the interrogation myself, right now!" Darion exclaimed. "I'm going to make this snake confess!"
"Please listen to me!" Malark said, blocking his way. "Your father was found with no visible wounds. He was old, and it may just have been a coincidence. I promised the Gerudo King he would be treated fairly. Don't turn me into a liar by torturing him."
Darion wanted to push the wizard out of the way, but thought better of it. He was right, of course: Mistreating a prisoner out of frustration and rage would have been a terrible thing to do. And his father would not have wanted it. He nodded.
"You're right. He'll be given the benefit of the doubt."
"On the other hand, if he is guilty, this murder might only be part of a greater plot against the royal family," Malark mused. "We have reason to believe that a Zora is trying to assassinate your sister, and-"
"What? Why wasn't I told about this?" Darion did not even want to think about the possibility of Zelda being killed, for he had parted in anger with her as well. "Why did you let her visit them if you knew about it?"
"We sent one of our finest Sheikah Elites to stand watch over her. It seemed a manageable risk."
"I can't believe you're saying this!"
"A risk we can no longer take, naturally, not with your father dead," Malark was quick to assure. "I sent a group of soldiers to escort her back to the Keep immediately right after I learned of the king's passing. And I have increased security around young Kyrus as well. Even if our worst nightmares come true and your sister falls victim to an assassin, the throne of Hyrule shall not remain empty for long."
"What are you talking about?" Darion was perplexed. "I will be king! I am the oldest child!"
Malark coughed and dodged Darion's gaze. The old advisor seemed abashed, embarrassed even.
That would be a first for him. But what did he mean by that?
"Malark! Look at me and speak up!"
"My prince, telling you this pains me more than if I had told you of your father's passing. But... I have failed you. I was not able to assuage the king's fury the day before."
"And that means?"
"Your father disinherited you shortly after you left yesterday," the wizard whispered. "You will never be king."
If seeing his father dead before him had been a knife stabbed in Darion's heart, this news was as though that knife had been twisted inside the wound. It was not just that he had lost his claims to the throne – the worst part was that his father had decided not to forgive his rash words. He had died hating him.
"I have nothing to say in my defence," Malark professed.
"Yes," Darion whispered weakly. "There's nothing to say."
"I will show you the document. Please come with me to the archives. The registrar is surely asleep, but I have the keys to all rooms in the Keep."
"What's the point? I believe you." The last thing Darion wanted to see was written proof of his father's contempt for him.
"I must insist," Malark said. "It will be terrible for you to read, but as much as I appreciate your trust, you can't just go on my word alone."
"Fine, as you wish," Darion said, resigned to his fate. "Lead the way."
The prince followed Malark through the door and down the corridor, trying to hold his head high and returning the concerned glances of the guards; he would not be much of a man otherwise. Even through the powerful veil of depression he could see that his life was far from over. Maybe Zelda would allow him to stay in the Keep as an advisor of sorts, although he might no have much to offer to her in terms of advice.
The archives were located only a short walk from the throne room, and Malark unlocked the door of the small room full of shelves that housed countless scrolls, dating back to the establishment of the current dynasty by King Achmenos I, two centuries ago. Malark scanned the shelves for a short time until he found the scroll in question, uncurled it and presented it to Darion, who reluctantly read it.
...forever barred from the throne of Hyrule...
...disrespectful and insolent words ...
So it had been all about that one fateful remark in the Sacred Realm. In retrospect, it almost seemed like a petty overreaction.
Maybe I should just start hating father for this. At least then I wouldn't have to grieve anymore.
"Notice the seal of your family, as well as your father's signature," Malark said while looking at the prince sympathetically. "It's a legally binding document, I'm afraid to say."
Darion nodded and wanted to hand the scroll back to Malark when he noticed something odd. The royal family's seal, depicting a bird and the no-longer-legendary Triforce, was indeed there, but the space where his father's signature should be was empty. Which meant...
"I think there has been a mistake, Malark," Darion said and turned the scroll around so the wizard could see it. "I don't see any signature." He smiled at the old man. "This document is null and void."
Malark frowned and took a closer look at the parchment.
"This can't be. It's impossible!"
The wizard's red eyes jumped all over the parchment, his expression almost pleading, as though he expected the signature to appear out of nowhere if he only looked long enough. He mumbled something inaudible, ground his teeth, and suddenly crumpled the parchment in his fist.
"I am an idiot!" he shouted. "Why didn't I check? Why didn't I-" He looked up in shock, meeting Darion's confused gaze, and regained his composure as suddenly as he had lost it.
"Oh well. This, too, can be remedied."
"Are you all right?" Darion asked. Maybe the old man was not as emotionless as everybody always said, and the death of his long-time master had shaken even him. "Why are you an idiot? And what can be remedied?"
"I am an idiot," the wizard answered calmly, "because I caused you unnecessary heartache by claiming that your father had disinherited you, when he hadn't! He must have had a change of heart at the last moment. A testimony to his... strong character." He took a deep breath and uncurled the document again. "And this awkward situation can be remedied just like that." He ripped the scroll neatly in two and let the halves fall to the floor. "Null and void, just as you said. Forgive my outburst, but your father's death has not left my nerves unstrained."
"Yes, I thought as much. But I wonder about this... "
Could it really be that he forgave me?
"You said my father had a change of heart. But he must have written this while he was very angry! Perhaps he simply forgot to sign it in his agitation. Why else would he seal it and place it in the archives?"
"Perhaps he forgot, perhaps not," Malark shrugged. "It makes no difference."
"It makes a difference to me! If only I could talk to him one more time..."
"Please stop right there, Prince Darion," Malark said, concern plain in his voice. "Thoughts like these only nourish impossible hopes. The truth is that your father is dead, and there is no power in this world that can bring him back."
And then the answer came to Darion, unbidden, but not unwelcome. He should have thought of it much earlier, but grief had clouded his mind as thoroughly as the wine before it.
"Yes, there is," he said. "There is one such power, and we both know where to find it."
"Triforce," the wizard whispered in awe.
"Yes! Surely, the power of the gods can achieve anything!"
"Are you sure this is wise?" Malark asked. "No matter the cause of his death, no one can claim that your father died before his time. I know that the strain of old age tore heavily at him – even though his mind remained clear until the end. Consider also that his great love passed away less than a week ago. Maybe he died of a broken heart. Maybe he wouldn't want to return."
"But everybody wants to live!"
Malark sighed.
"Your highness, I would never reveal to you the things your father told me in confidence. But consider: If he had harboured thoughts about his death, do you think he would have upset his youthful son with them, or rather confided in his long-time advisor, who knows only too well what it is like to grow old?"
"But I admonished my father for not bringing back mother with the Triforce! If I don't revive him, I would be a hypocrite!"
"Would you yank him back to life just to prove something to yourself?" Malark asked. "If so, I entreat you to reconsider."
"But I could make him young and healthy! And bring back mother!"
"If your father had wanted eternal youth for himself and your mother, he could have wished for it himself, at any point over the last fourty years. But he did not. What does that tell you?"
Darion hated to admit it, but Malark had a point. If his father had admonished him in life for merely mentioning bringing back the dead, what would he tell his son if he actually brought him back?
"I think you should use the Triforce to aid the living, and let the dead rest in peace," Malark drove home his point.
"All right, then." Darion had a sudden idea. "How about a compromise? The priests say that the soul only ascends to heaven when the body has been buried, isn't it?"
"Prince Darion," Malark replied with barely hidden disgust, "you wouldn't want me to tell you what I think about the priests."
Darion cocked his head. "So that is why I've never seen you in church! Regardless, since my father's body hasn't been buried yet, his soul isn't in heaven yet. That means, if I just were to talk to him for a couple of minutes... I wouldn't be disturbing his rest, would I?"
Malark cleared his throat. "If one were to accept the... questionable assumptions of the priests, then yes, that would be right."
"It's settled, then! I won't bring him back to life, but I will talk to his spirit, to set things right between us, and to say goodbye. To the Sacred Realm!"
Happy that he had found a solution that would let him talk to his father one last time while respecting his wishes, Darion left the archives and ran down the corridor, the stables his destination, Malark following close behind him, vainly begging him to slow down. In his excitement, Darion did not heed him, expecting him to catch up eventually. When he reached the stables and found Malark awaiting him there, he winced at the sight of the old man who had somehow managed to overtake him.
"What... how did you...?
"Consider it a demonstration," Malark said without smugness. "I can bring us to the entrance of the Sacred Realm much faster than any horse."
"Really? Then why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried, but you ran way," the wizard pointed out. "But first things first: Shouldn't you be thinking about your coronation?"
Darion shook his head emphatically. "That can wait. In fact, I don't think I could truly become king without taking care of this matter first."
"As you wish." Malark nodded. "At any rate, I can teleport us to the North Garrison in an instant, if you want me to."
"Tele-port?"
Malark demonstrated it by appearing at Darion's right, then his left, then back where he had been standing, each disappearance accompanied by a short hand gesture. Darion was impressed, to say the least.
"I guess you're a wizard after all."
"Was there ever any doubt about that?"
"No," Darion was quick to assure the old man, "it's just that I've never seen you actually do any magic."
"There's little need for that in my position as advisor, is there?"
"I guess that makes sense. All right, what do I have to do?"
"Nothing at all. All I need is your consent, and I'll take care of the rest."
Darion nodded and closed his eyes for some reason: He had always been slightly distrustful of magic, but he was fine with everything that hastened his progress at this time. Only a second or two later did he feel the wind of the open field blowing in his face, and the temperature around him dropped noticeably.
It's done already?
Darion opened his eyes and found himself and Malark standing next to the barracks, the largest building of the North Garrison. Fires on top of the watchtowers illuminated the area, and even in the middle of the night, the chapel that housed the portal was guarded by four soldiers. Nobody had taken notice of their arrival yet, since they had appeared in the shadows of the barracks.
"This is amazing!" Darion praised Malark's spell. Wizards rarely talked about their capabilities, let alone demonstrated them, and this proof of Malark's power reminded him that this was not merely false modesty. "But why didn't you teleport us back then when we came here with my father last week?"
"The spell is not entirely without risks, managable though they are." Malark shrugged. "Your father did not want to take those risks."
"Yes, I can imagine he didn't," Darion said, reminded of his father's overbearing need for caution. Then he immediately reprimanded himself in his mind for speaking ill of the dead.
Their conversation had alerted the guards to the new arrivals, and they approached them with their weapons drawn and demanded their names. Darion gladly gave them, and Malark's presence was enough to answer the question of 'how did you get in here unnoticed?'
His talents really should be utilized more. But with the Triforce, it's a moot point.
The guards welcomed the prince who was well-liked by the soldiers, since he often joined them during exercises to maintain his skills. When he told them that the king was dead, most of the men merely nodded and accepted the news. Artaxis had been more than sixty years old, and his death, as regrettable as it was, seemed perfectly acceptable for most of the men.
Perhaps I should try to copy their attitude... no, not yet! Not before I talked to him!
The soldiers offered a prayer for the departed king's soul, which was awkward for Darion, since he was going to talk to that soul in a few minutes. Malark did not comment on the prayer, but the words 'bah, humbug' were written all over his face. After the prayer, the soldiers wanted to pay the new king their respects, but Darion was quick to point out that he had not been crowned yet.
"We're here to go into the Sacred Realm," he told them. He wondered how much the soldiers knew about the Triforce, and whether or not he should give them a reason as to why they were going, but they did not seem to need one.
"But I'm not sure it will work, majesty," one of them told Darion. "Some kind of spell blocks the gate, you see. King Artaxis once told us that 'only the rightful King of Hyrule and his chosen companions may pass through this gate'. Now you certainly are the rightful king, but if you haven't been crowned yet, it may not work. Just a word of caution."
"I doubt that the ward is that pedantic," Malark said. "And even if it is... it must have been set up by Arnu, so I could probably dismantle it in less than ten minutes."
"Ouch, that was harsh," Darion muttered. He knew there was a long-standing antipathy between Malark and Arnu, although both of them were professional enough not to show it openly.
"Not as harsh as you may think," Malark said. "Defensive magic is by its very nature limited. It has to be refreshed regularly, and the farther the caster is away, the weaker it gets."
"Good to know," Darion said. "The four of you are coming with us," he told the soldiers. "No, wait, get some more men. Just in case. "
"I really don't think that's necessary," Malark began, but Darion cut him off.
"I think it is."
In truth, as useful as Malark had already have proven himself, Darion was wary of letting him get too close to the Triforce. He still remembered the greedy manner in which the wizard had looked at it the last time, and he would rather be safe than sorry.
On the other hand, Malark had been a loyal servant of Hyrule in one form or another for almost three times as many years as Darion was old, so he would not deny him the opportunity to take another look at the Triforce.
Maybe he just likes the way it sparkles. I could have an imitation crafted for him, made from pure gold.
Now that I think of it, it would probably be a good idea to remove the Triforce and secretly hide it away in the Keep. Who knows, there may be other portals leading to it from other places, and they just haven't been discovered yet. It would be very unpleasant to come here one day and find the Triforce gone. Did nobody think of that before?
Their escort was ready, and Darion led them into the small chapel that housed the portal. To his relief, the invisible wards around the shimmering portal accepted him as 'rightful king', and the group crossed over to the other side, into the strange, dark chamber with the blue floor. The Triforce was still there, hovering silently in their resting place, awaiting the commands of their rightful master. Darion had the soldiers position themselves around the Triforce and peered warily at Malark, whose eyes were already fixed on the golden triangles.
"Say, Malark," Darion said, "would you be able to teleport directly into this room from Hyrule, skipping the portal entirely?" He tried to keep his voice casual, so as not to betray the distrustful intent behind his question.
"I am certain that it would be impossible," the wizard replied without looking at his prince. "This room, and the entire realm around it, lies on a completely different plane of existence from our own, and seems to obey different laws." He flicked his hands several times in a row, but nothing happened. "I could study these laws, of course, but that would take time. Right here and now, I can use as much magic as you."
"Oh, really?" Darion said with some relief. "Remind me to mock you about that every time we come here."
"As your majesty commands."
Darion considered asking Malark whether he had ever had a sense of humour in his long life, and if so, where it had disappeared to, but decided not to taunt his loyal servant even more. Instead, he turned his attention to the Triforce that hovered in the middle of the dark chamber. It still looked exactly the same as the last time, slowly turning around its own axis, somehow emitting a bright golden light without blinding the people who looked directly at it.
The power of the gods. Triforce. And it is rightfully mine!
Out of the corners of his eyes, Darion saw a faint tremor going through Malark's body, and he quickly stepped forward to block the path to the Triforce.
"Nobody touches it except myself," he said loudly, speaking to no one in particular, but hoping that Malark would take the hint.
"Your highness," the wizard asked undeterred, "could I have a closer look at-"
"No."
There it is again, that coveting gleam in his eyes. He really has no shame.
For a second, the old wizard looked about to make a break for the Triforce, throwing frustrated glances at the soldiers' drawn weapons.
Then again, it might also have been Darion's imagination.
"Then perhaps at a later time..." Malark whispered.
"Don't hold your breath," Darion said. "The Triforce belongs to the King of Hyrule." Feeling the need to temper his harsh words, he added: "But feel free to request something I should command it to do. Your long service for our family has been unrewarded for long enough."
"I will think about your offer," Malark said unhappily.
"Please do that," Darion said. "In the meantime, I'll do what I came here to do." He walked before the Triforce and took a deep breath, hoping that the soldiers would not be too shocked at the sight of his father's spirit.
"Hear me," he said solemnly. "A new age is upon us!" He raised his right hand and touched the Triforce, which stopped turning immediately. Its surface was smooth and slightly warm to the touch. Darion cleared his throat and spoke in his best commanding voice:
"Triforce! I am your master now! You will do as I say!"
He felt a little bit silly saying that, unsure whether the Triforce would even understand him – was it a living being or an inanimate object? Then, suddenly, an etheral, yet imposing voice echoed throughout the chamber.
"I am the Essence of the Triforce. He who would make a wish, be warned that your heart must contain the three virtues in equal parts, or you cannot command me."
"What is it talking about?" Darion asked Malark, but the wizard could only shrug. "What's that supposed to mean, virtues?" he asked the Triforce directly.
"Power, wisdom and courage," the voice said simply. Apparently, that was the entire explanation. Darion frowned. He had not expected the Triforce to come with strings attached, with conditions that had to be met.
But it worked for father, so he must have had all these virtues. And if he had them, so do I!
"I command you to let me talk to my father!" Darion said, ignoring the gasps of the soldiers around him. "His soul, or spirit, or whatever you call it. It needn't be for long."
His instructions where admittedly slightly imprecise, but Darion trusted that the Triforce would understand his meaning. If it was all-powerful, surely it was also all-knowing. After a second, the voice of the Essence answered:
"I have seen into your heart, and I have judged you, and I find you wanting. You do not have the courage to live with the ambiguity that always accompanies death. You do not have the wisdom to understand that all things must end, yet nothing is ever finished. You only seek to impose your will on the world through raw power. Your heart is not in balance."
What is it trying to say? Is it refusing my command?
"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care!" Darion shouted, incensed by the Triforce's recalcitrance. "But I will see him one more time! I must!"
"Your heart is not in balance," the voice repeated relentlessly. "You believe in power most of all, and will therefore receive the Triforce of Power. The two remaining parts will be given to the ones chosen by destiny. Each of you will carry their Triforce piece as long as that person is alive, or until the three Triforce Bearers come together. Only then can the whole Triforce be reunited, and you may claim it as your own if you so choose, even with the lack of balance in your heart."
"What's the matter with you?" Darion yelled. "You don't get to talk back to me! You're a piece of metal! I own you!"
But the voice of the Essence had fallen silent. Darion's mind raced, trying to understand what had gone wrong.
I am found wanting? Do you have to be some kind of saint to use this thing?
The Triforce started to vibrate, as if trying to shake off Darion's hand, but he was determined not to let go, not until the damn thing had obeyed him. Then, the three small triangles that made up the Triforce began pulling away from the centre, and within seconds, they were all floating separately before Darion, who used both hands in a desperate attempt to get a hold of them all. But they slipped from his grasp and now began drifting upward, still away from each other.
No! It wasn't supposed to be like this!
The soldiers were now openly talking among each other. Even without the voice's damning appraisal of Darion's 'balance', it would have been obvious to anybody that something had gone very wrong. Malark made no sound, but was visibly mortified by the sight of the Triforce tearing itself apart.
Just as Darion feared that the pieces would float out of his arms' reach, they stopped moving. The triangle that had formed the top of the Triforce suddenly shot toward and somehow entered his chest without causing any sensation, surrounding his body with a golden glow for a second, and then there was no trace of it left. A moment later, the two remaining pieces accelerated as the first one had and sped off into separate directions. After flying a short distance, they vanished into thin air, as though they had left the chamber and the entirety of the Sacred Realm through a portal of their own.
"No! Stay here! You are my inheritance!" Darion begged weakly, but there was no helping it: The Triforce pieces were gone, and the omnipresent golden light with them. The chamber was still illuminated with blue light coming from the floor, but the golden radiance of the Triforce was gone.
Darion turned around and looked at his soldiers. "What's the meaning of this?" he asked, as if they somehow knew. "What did just happen?"
But the soldiers simply stared at him, some of them shaking their heads, most of them whispering among each other. 'Ill omen' and 'abandoned by the gods' were the only things Darion could make out, and he could scarcely blame them for thinking this way, after witnessing the prince somehow squander the gift from the gods.
Malark had knelt down on the floor at some point and was staring at the spot where the Triforce once had been. He seemed like a man on a sinking ship in the middle of an ocean who had just seen all lifeboats depart on their own and leave him behind. Short, muted giggles kept escaping his mouth, and he looked like he could break out into hysterical laughter at any moment.
If he does, I might just as well join him. I have no idea what happened, except that I botched it completely. My father managed to use the Triforce just fine, but I... I have been found wanting.
Darion buried his face in his hands and waited for the earth to swallow him.
"Highness!" a soldier suddenly called out. "Your hand!"
Darion wanted to ignore his words, but since the earth refused to swallow him – it probably had found some fault with him, too – he might as well take a look. He was amazed to find three glowing golden triangles imprinted on the back of his right hand, one of them brighter than the others. Then he recalled one of the triangles entering his body, and suddenly, the words of the Essence of the Triforce made sense.
One piece is now inside of me... the Triforce of Power... and it will remain within me as long as I am alive.
Once Darion remembered the words of the Essence of the Triforce, everything started to make sense: The other two pieces had left this realm, presumably for Hyrule, and had entered the bodies of those 'chosen by destiny'. If he were to meet with them, the Triforce would be re-united, and he would be able to claim it for himself, no matter how lacking he might be!
All I have to do is find these two chosen ones, and have them brought before me! And if they, too, bear a mark on their hands, how difficult can it be to find them? I will reward them with great wealth if only they come to me and return that which is mine by right!
Darion allowed himself a smile as hope returned to him, and raised a clenched fist. The soldiers saw it and seemed strangely reassured by his demeanour, even though he had not given them a reason to believe in him yet.
"Come on, all of you," Darion said. "We're going home."
The soldiers obeyed and followed their prince back through the portal, dragging the devastated Malark behind them.
"First of all, there will be no word of this to anybody!" Darion said once they were back in the chapel. "Is that clear?"
The soldiers loudly replied in the affirmative, and the hushed whispers and furtive glances ceased after this.
"Do not worry," Darion said, well aware of the need for a leader to demonstrate confidence. "I will yet usher Hyrule into a new age, using the gift of the gods, the power of gold. The Triforce."
Again Darion smiled, this time only to himself.
"I promise you, I shall have it back. It will be easier than all of you think."
But there are bound to be those who are envious... those who would begrudge me this power. I must be prepared for that!
"And if it won't be easy, then I will do whatever it takes to have it back. And may the Goddesses help any poor, blasted fool who would seek to bar my way."