Filler chapter is filler. This chapter technically has a second half, but that second half is only half-written, and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer than necessary. So, enjoy Sheik and Jack bonding, Dack being a disgusting, creepy fuck, and Link being a trapped, angry little hornet.

Also, trigger warnings for rape-centric things in this chapter, a little more suggestive than usual, because Dack is mouthy and also a huge pile of shit.

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 20 - Dark Days to Come

"Why is he here?" Sheik whispered, almost spitting, in Jack's ear. His eyes narrowed as he scowled across the hallway at Dack, who was lined up just as they were, waiting to go into the baths. Oh hell, the baths: once a week, they were let out of their cells in groups and made to line up in order to go out to the bath house and wash. Today was that day, and luckily Sheik had Jack to go in with him and watch his back, but when they'd been let out of their cell and filed down the hall to join the line, Sheik had stopped in his tracks. Dack had been standing there against the wall, arms folded and looking none too smug as he bent his head to whisper closely with the man standing next to him.

It had only been two or three minutes since Sheik and Jack's cell had been unlocked, and the guards hadn't moved their line at all yet, but Sheik was still on edge. "He didn't have the same bath schedule as us last week, but now he's here?! What the fuck is this?"

Jack turned around to look at him, frowning. "I…" He looked troubled, and though over the last few days they'd been moving towards being more civilized towards one another, it was very uncharacteristic for Jack not to let out some biting or sarcastic remark at him. "I don't know," he said softly, furrowing his dark eyebrows and blinking his dusky blue eyes several times, casting a swift glance at Dack over his shoulder before looking back up at Sheik. "I don't know," he repeated. "It's pretty fucking odd—his cell is in the next hall over, and they usually only let one hall go at a time. I don't know why he's here, Sheik."

Sheik scowled. "Oh, I know whyhe's here. He's here for me, I just don't know how he got here! Fucking sneaky, disgusting brute—" Sheik's words bit off in his own mouth when Dack looked up at him, saw Sheik glaring, and smiled a slow, cruel grin. The man reached up to scratch at the large scar running across the bridge of his nose and inclined his head, chuckling to his friend next to him.

Jack wrinkled his nose, turning to scowl back in Dack's direction as well. "What's his fucking fixation on you? It's above and beyond that of the average asshole in this dump."

"His fixation?" Sheik huffed, crossing his arms and slumping against the stone wall behind them. "It's because he used to have me whenever he wanted, and now I've made it clear that he can't touch me anymore. I suppose he finds it insulting in some weird alpha way."

"Right, and…" Jack began. "Last time you were in the prisons, you used to…"

"I told you," Sheik murmured, scowling at Jack from underneath his bangs. "Last time, I was young, and things were different. We were all pretty much allowed to run amuck, so long as we didn't try to leave. It was the guard's jobs to make sure we didn't get out, which meant they didn't much care what we did to each other, but… that's changed now. You're lucky things are so different now. You wouldn't be able to protect yourself, let alone your little brother."

Jack huffed, shaking his head. "That's really fucked up, Sheik. It's always been this way for us—with all the order and rules and locking us up—since Ben and I got here. If it were the way you described now, I'm afraid we'd both probably be dead. Or… at least Ben would be." Sheik glanced at Jack when he fell against the wall next to him, slumped down and looking so glum. "I wouldn't be able to protect him. I'm lucky as it is that we've both been pretty much okay so far, and that he has Arthur in his cell with him, to look after him." Jack looked at Sheik. "When we first got here and they took him away from me, I—" He chocked, cutting off his words. "I saw him later, at meal time. He had already made friends with Arthur, you see, and he'd dragged the old man around trying to find me, and I…" He blinked once, twice, searching Sheik's eyes. "I am so grateful to that man for everything he's done for Ben. He keeps him safe, because I can't always do that here. But between the two of us…"

"Jack," Sheik said, flicking his eyes over to Dack, just to check, and then back down to Jack again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Something tells me I won't like whatever it is," Jack muttered grumpily. "But yeah… go ahead."

Sheik cleared his throat. "With the way things are run here now—with how much safer and more secure it is—did anyone ever… ever… you know…"

"What, rape me?" Jack asked, and his voice sounded so weary, so tired and bleak. He deflated a bit, and he slid on the wall further towards Sheik, melting into his side a bit, his shoulder touching Sheik's, his head lolled toward him.

"Well…" Sheik swallowed, wishing he hadn't even asked, but… still, a curiosity lived within him, wondering if Jack—if the closest thing he had to a friend in this place—had known the pain he'd known. "Yes," Sheik murmured. "Yes, that's what I mean."

Jack didn't answer right away. It was quiet for so long that Sheik thought perhaps he was just ignoring him, but then Jack reached over and touched Sheik's arm, grabbing his sleeve like a lifeline. "Yes…" Jack said softly. "But it didn't happen to me here. Not in this place."

Sheik furrowed his brow, surprised and confused. "W-what?" he asked.

Jack sighed, gripping tighter to Sheik's sleeve, and when Sheik looked over at him, his eyes were trained down on the floor. "It's none of your business, for one," he muttered. "It's really not."

"Well," Sheik said softly, reaching up to touch Jack's fingers, still fisted and clenched in the sleeve of his tunic. "You don't have to tell me, Jack. I just—"

"It's an ugly story," Jack said quietly, and slowly he released his death grip on Sheik's arm. "Maybe I'll tell you sometime. Not now."

Sheik nodded, waiting patiently as Jack settled back into himself again, his hackles flattening back down, slowly returning to his old, barbed self. Then, with a hesitant, unsure hand, Sheik reached up and swept aside some of the dark bangs that had fallen into Jack's face, dropping his hand as soon as soon as his dark blue eyes flicked up to watch him.

"I…" Sheik opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say. He felt awkward and clunky just standing there, facing Jack, so he hunched back down again, wrapping his arms around himself and went back to scowling at Dack, who Sheik found had been watching their little exchange. Sheik narrowed his eyes at him, and Dack narrowed his right back.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, reaching up and brushing his bangs back into his eyes from where Sheik had moved them. "You're so fucking stupid, Sheik. A complete idiot." And then he laughed, a breathy, surprisingly light chuckle.

Despite Dack still staring at them both, Sheik couldn't help but crack a smile. Jack had recovered from his momentary emotional disturbance, it seemed, and was back to spouting profanities and just overall grumpiness. That was good.

But Sheik still had other problems.

From the end of the hallway, one of the guards called out for them to start moving. "And keep in an orderly line! I don't want any trouble out of any of you, you pack of savages!"

The lines on both sides of the wide hallway started to move, and Dack, ten feet or so ahead of them, started off before they did. Sheik moved behind Jack, following him and the entire procession as they started down the long hallway, heading for the spiral staircase that would take them downstairs an outside.

The baths were in a separate, smaller stone building that was built against the south side of the old castle that the prisons had been established in. They would all be forced to stop again once outside, in order for the guards to make sure there was no one trying to break apart from the line and stay inside the castle, and to lock the door.

It was then, slumped against the outside wall of the castle while waiting for the guards to finish their check that Jack spoke again.

"I know I normally try to ignore your problems, Sheik, but he's staring at you again."

"I'm sure he is," Sheik replied, staring blankly at his bare feet in the dried, yellow grass, just waiting for the line to move. "The two men that I confronted a few days ago—the ones that were torturing that man I knew, Ander—they saw me and mentioned that Dack had been talking about me. What's really fucked up is they called me a pretty blonde," he spat, the words tasting foul in his mouth.

Jack snorted. "Blonde, yeah. Mmm, but pretty? Not really."

Sheik shot him a glare, elbowing him in the side. "Shut up."

Jack chuckled. "Sorry."

Sheik sighed, lifting his head to stare across the empty yard, out at the tall stone wall thirty feet off that fenced them all in, trapping them in a life that offered both monotony and danger. "Look," Sheik said, voice soft. "When we get in there, just… just keep close to me, please. We'll stay together, get washed, and then wait to leave together. He can't really do anything with the guards watching us all in there. I think he's just here to taunt me."

"I think he's here just to look at you, seeing as how he hasn't really stopped since you noticed he was here."

"Fuck," Sheik said. "Yeah, I know."

One of the guards called from the doors to the prison that it was alight for them to move on, so the guard standing way off near the front of their line waved a hand, and they all started moving across the yard to the baths, which were just around the side of the castle.

The bath house was really just a large, empty stone shack that dozens of metal and wooden tubs had been placed in. There was a well near the back of it, and sometimes the guards would make a handful of prisoners spend the day drawing up water from the well in order to fill said tubs. The water was always cold, and you were lucky if you were only the second or third to use it that day. You were beyond lucky if you were the first.

"I think the water looks fairly new. It's not even murky, from what I can see," Jack said, glancing over his shoulder as he peeled off his shirt, tossing it in the corner where an ever-growing pile of dirty prison rags sat. Every week at bathing time, all of their dirty clothes were collected to be washed, and they were given new ones. It was well known that the "new" pair of clothes were just the most recently cleaned batch of the last group that bathed, which wasn't exactly a comforting thought. So far in his few weeks at the prisons, Sheik had been given a tunic that was about three sizes too big, one that fit alright, and one that was a bit too snug.

Sheik hummed in response, pulling his shirt over his head, privately wincing at the feeling he got when he laid his skin bare to the room. He'd probably always have a little trouble with undressing around others—it brought very real and very unwanted memories back—but he was alright, he just needed to keep telling himself that. "Is he still watching us?" he asked quietly, undoing the ties on his pants.

"No," Jack said softly, standing up on his toes to peer around the other undressing bodies in the confined space. "His back is turned."

Sheik took a moment to brace himself, closing his eyes and taking one slow breath before he pulled down his trousers, tossing them in the corner and then standing and waiting for Jack to do the same. He wrapped his arms around his middle, keeping his eyes averted onto the floor, practically shaking with nerves. The baths weren't an easy thing for him to handle, but… at least he had someone to look out for him now.

"Come on, you," Jack sighed, gently grabbing ahold of Sheik's arm and leading him further into the room, almost near the back. They stopped in front of one of the wooden tubs, Jack letting go of Sheik and kneeling on the stone floor next to it, picking up a dirty-looking bar of soap from the floor and sticking it into the water, trying to wash some of the grime from it. Sheik knelt next to him, watching him methodically, trying to focus on that rather than how vulnerable he was.

The air in the room was close and hot, smelling horrid with so many unwashed bodies packed so closely inside of it. Sheik flicked his eyes around the room as he waited for Jack to finish cleaning the soap, watching as either one or two men would claim a tub for themselves before proceeding to wash. Sheik took special care to note that Dack had claimed a metal tub all for himself, about two or three down from them. He wasn't facing away from them, but he wasn't looking at them, either.

"Here," Jack said mildly, handing him the soap, now that he was finished with it. Sheik took it from him, staring at it as Jack stood and stepped into the tub, squatting down in it. Sheik handed him back the soap without a word, trying to keep his eyes down where they should be. He didn't want to look—the thought made him shutter, really—but with Jack being right there, so close in front of him, he…

"Sheik," Jack said, voice flat. "You're as red as a fucking tomato."

"Shut up," Sheik muttered, eyes flicking up to study the contours of Jack's smooth back—how straight he held it and his creamy, pale skin. He furrowed his brow, looking down again, biting his lip.

He found himself wishing that he… well, that when he'd been with Link, perhaps it wouldn't have been… been so bad to let the boy in a little more. Just a little. Felt him, and touched him, and k-kissed him. But for fuck's sake, Sheik had been fighting bouts of panic and full-fledged anxiety and mortifying fear, and—

"Sheik!" Jack hissed. "For fuck's sake, here, take it." Sheik looked up to see Jack offering the soap to him, tufts of his dark brown hair sticking up in every direction and some of his skin rubbed raw and red from his vigorous scrubbing. "Go on," he said. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Sheik nodded, standing up so he could trade places with Jack. While he was washing, trying mostly to keep his head down, he thought more on what it would have been like to give Link more of a chance than he had. He thought of the times in Sol's house, where Link had come on to him, vying for his attention and affection so strongly that it had quite frankly scared Sheik a little. Sheik remembered lying in bed, coming awake to the feel of the prince's soft, hot lips on his. He hadn't really thought to enjoy the sensation at the time because all that had been running through his mind at that moment was panic and an instinctual need to get out. And how exactly was he supposed to have reacted? During his last stay in the prisons, when he woke up to something like that, it really was because someone had snuck into his cell at night to see if they couldn't get a fuck out of him. When Link had done it, it had scared him. He just… hadn't been able to differentiate between the two. But maybe he could now.

Now, being stuck in the prisons for the rest of his life, Sheik… well, he wondered about Link… he'd spend the rest of his life wondering, he figured, about what would have happened to the two of them if he'd kept the young prince at his side.

"Sheik," Jack said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Sheik, you're all…" He poked his arm. "Goddesses, relax a bit more, you're all stiffened up. You froze just now, and…" Jack leaned in real close, whispering. "I saw him look right at you." He pulled away again, his lips twisting up into a moue. "I mean, granted, so did like five other people, because you kind of just stopped moving for a good ten seconds there, but—" Jack cut himself off, and Sheik could feel the tension coming off him. "He's looking at us, Sheik. He's—"

Sheik glanced up, meeting Dack's dark eyes with his own, keeping his face bland and as expressionless as he could. Dack returned the look, though his mouth was turned down, as if he were displeased by something. Sheik made sure that he wasn't the first one to look away.

"He won't do anything to me in here," Sheik said, feeling that he was right. "But he wants to."

Jack snorted, reaching into the water so he could splash some up on Sheik's torso. Sheik hissed in surprise, twisting away from the cold shock. "You little fuck," he cursed.

"Of course he wants to," Jack sassed. "And so do ten others in here. To you, and to me, and to pretty much anyone that they can wrestle underneath them." Sheik frowned down at him, but Jack only rolled his eyes. "That's why they're in the prisons, Sheik. That's what every free person on the outside figures; that it's better if we get touched and beaten and groped at, because we—" he gestured between them— "are criminals too. All you have to do is keep watching your back and don't be stupid. They've made it fairly safe for us here now."

"And yet I take no confidence or comfort in what you just said," Sheik replied darkly, which made Jack splash him again.

"Quit being so grim, would you? And keep washing, we're almost out of time." Sheik sighed, returning to scrubbing at his skin, leaving it red and smooth. "I see the fucking danger there," Jack went on. "I see him watching you, and others, too, but nothing is going to happen in this room—there are four guards watching us in here, Sheik, and another two outside. If Dack was going to start something with you, he wouldn't do it here."

"Last time was on the way out of the mess hall," Sheik murmured. "He pushed me into an empty cell while everyone was heading back to their bunks."

"Well, I walk with you to and from the mess hall now," Jack replied, hand trailing lazily in the water, near Sheik's thigh. "We're together almost all the time, except for when you go wandering off on your own when they let us all outside… Maybe you should stop doing that."

Sheik frowned. "You don't think this is all in my head?" he asked. "I mean, maybe he doesn't want to touch me. Maybe he's just keeping an eye on me to make sure I don't lash out at him again, like last time. I kicked him pretty hard…"

"You really believe that shit?" Jack asked incredulously, and Sheik shrugged, not quite able to meet his eyes. "Listen, Sheik, you're… look, man, you don't need to doubt yourself. There are plenty of people out there who will doubt you, so really, if there's one person who should believe in you, it's you. And… and I know how this shit can get. When someone's obsessive."

Sheik blinked in surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah," Jack said, voice becoming guarded. "I think you're right to be so cautious. And goddesses know you probably have the right to, after… well, after your first time here."

"Thank you," Sheik said quietly after a moment. He met Jack's steady blue gaze. "For… fuck, I don't know, talking to me, trying to make me feel alright about all this. Helping me."

Jack shrugged. "I suppose it's habit. Like you seem to enjoy saying, I'm constantly mothering Benjamin. Perhaps some of that habit is starting to rub off on you. Are you done?"

"Yeah," Sheik mumbled, reaching over the edge of the small tub to set the soap back on the ground.

"Then get the fuck out so that you'll dry before they make us go running back to the cells."

Sheik stood and stepped out, kneeling beside Jack again, shivering as his hair dripped water all down his back and on the floor. Before too much longer, two guards entered the bathhouse carrying clean clothes for everyone. They walked amongst the prisoners, distributing them, occasionally mumbling something about staying put or clothing size.

When the guard reached them, he looked down at them and frowned. "Two small tunics," he muttered, rooting around in the basket he carried. "You two need to put some meat on your bones. Only got one small left." He dropped two shirts onto their heads and then went on to the next prisoner.

"Oh great," Jack huffed, holding out one of the tunics. "This thing looks like a tent."

Sheik snorted. Jack was exaggerating. "Give it to me, then," he said. "I'm bigger than you anyways. You take the smaller one."

"Damn right," Jack grumbled.

Trousers were distributed next, and luckily, Sheik was handed a pair that actually fit quite nicely, running half way down his calf, and being snug while still providing room to move. He rather liked them.

"Still say they should give us some shoes," Jack muttered, standing to shimmy the pants up his hips. Sheik made a point not to watch. "Half the reason that tub water ends up so murky is because of our fucking feet."

Sheik made a little nose of disgust in the back of his throat, reaching up to rake the wet hair out of his eyes. "Are we back to our cells after this?" he asked.

"Think so," Jack replied, lacing up the placard of his trousers. "They've got a few more groups to put through the baths, and then I think they're letting us loose in the yard for an hour or so. That's what I hear, at least."

Sheik hummed in response, fiddling with the lacings on the neck of his tunic in an attempt to make the shirt fit better.

If he was to remain in that place for the rest of his days, he sure as hell wished that things would get easier. Wrapping his head around being in captivity for the rest of his life was hard enough without being targeted and having to constantly look over his shoulder.

Sheik needed to deal with Dack—he knew that. But he didn't want to get Jack or his brother involved in any way, for fear they'd become targets as well. And… should he confront Dack, or wait for Dack to confront him? And how exactly did he plan on doing this? Was he going to fight Dack? Threaten him? All of Sheik's skills in combat were based upon the tactic of stealth. He could and had killed men twice Dack's size, but that hadn't been in open combat; that had been planned and mapped out. How was he going to do this? How was he going to save himself? Because he couldn't go through that again. If he had to go through being pressed and held down against his will all while someone forcing him and taking him and using him and ra—

"Sheik!" Jack grabbed his shoulder, shaking him, ripping him from his dark reverie.

"Huh?" Sheik looked around, wide-eyed, at the now-emptying room, men filing back towards the exit from whence they had all come.

"Come on, you fuckwit," Jack snarled quietly; and it seemed his patience with Sheik had run out. He tugged on Sheik's arm, trying to get him up.

"Off," Sheik growled, yanking his arm back. Jack gave him a dirty look, but he relented and turned away, Sheik following him out towards the door. Most of the prisoners had already filed out in a line, but a few others were left trailing after Sheik and Jack, though Shiek wasn't paying any attention to them. He was still trying to figure out a solution to his predicament, staring at Jack's heels as he followed him out, wondering if—

"Nice seeing you here, Sheik," said a deep voice from behind him.

Sheik stiffened, getting goosebumps. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dack following not two feet behind, staring at him intensely.

Keep calm, keep calm, he told himself. There were guards, there were others around—many others. The worst Dack could do to him now was taunt him. Sheik swallowed, looking ahead at Jack, who had stopped and was looking at the two of them with a furrowed brow.

Sheik was safe. Dack couldn't touch him now. Their fight—their battle, whatever the fuck this would all end up being—couldn't happen now.

And besides, Sheik thought, swallowing down his rising panic. I'm strong. I'm able. I'm a major player now. The prisons were now his home as much as they were Dack's. So… well he didn't like it, but he should make the best of it. If Dack wanted to conquer him so bad, then Sheik might as well make him work for it before he beat the living shit out of him. Or… whatever it was he was going to do…

"Really?" Sheik asked, snorting to himself. A few others passed around them, filing back outside. They would need to exit soon as well, or there would be trouble from the guards. "Because," he continued. "It's certainly not a pleasant experience for me."

Dack cracked a grin. "Oh, no?" he cooed. "Is it not? You seem to be doing better than usual. After all, you're not a slobbering, shivering mess on the floor, scrabbling around and moaning about how scared you are. I'd say for you, that's pleasant."

Sheik raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised with the man's level of viciousness. He felt Jack approaching from behind, a steady and comforting presence at his back.

Dack peered around him, nodding at Jack. "And I see you've got yourself a little pet. I remember the days when you were my pet."

Sheik ignored that, and thankfully, Jack had the sense to as well, though Sheik could feel him bristling behind him. "You're going out of your way to follow me around now." Sheik said, cocking his head, studying Dack's face. He wasn't so scary on even ground like this. "Trailing after me, always looking for me. Wouldn't that make you the fucking pet, you piece of shit?"

Dack scowled at him. "Fuck you, Sheikah whore. Is that what you tell yourself to make it all better? That I'm pining after you, following you around?" He turned to the side, spitting on the ground. "I have to keep an eye on you, don't I? With all the things people are saying about you."

Sheik sighed, glaring at the ground for a moment before trailing his eyes back up to meet with Dack's muddy brown ones. "You and my father should have a chat," he said mildly, blinking slowly. "Since he also seems preoccupied with all the gossip going around about me and the shit I did. You and he would have a lot to talk about."

"I have a lot to talk about with you," Dack said, raising his eyebrows back. He crossed his arms over his thick chest, and Sheik noticed with some amusement that the tunic he'd been given was—like Sheik's—too big on him. It fell off his broad shoulders like an unfitting sack, making him look just a little humorous.

Sheik shook his head, reaching up to run a hand back through his wet hair. "Ah," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Jack, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment, just to give him strength. "That would be why you've snuck your way into the same bath time as me. Because you have a lot to…" He bit the inside of his cheek, raising his hands and making air quotes. "Talk to me about."

Dack looked amused. "You think I snuck here? For you?"

Sheik sighed, wanting very badly to roll his eyes. And… and his fear… he was doing alright. A bit shaky, but… but alright. "Should I not think that?" he asked, irritated. "Is that not what you did? Because it seems to me like that's exactly what you fucking did!"

"Sheik," Jack said from behind him. "We need to go."

Sheik took a moment—a small, short moment—to look at Dack in the eyes, studying him carefully with a morbid fascination. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn't find it. He hunched his shoulders forward, fighting a chill. His skin was still just a bit damp—just a bit susceptible to the cool air. "I'd tell you to move the fuck on to someone else and quit bothering me, but then, I wouldn't wish what you did to me on anybody. I wouldn't even wish it on you, which is a lot more than you deserve."

Dack snorted, narrowing his eyes. "What, am I supposed to think you're noble or something now? For saying that? I don't give a fuck about you or any of your griping, Sheik. You just watch your back from now on, you here? I'm going to come for you, and I'm going to fucking murder you, you little son of a bitch."

Sheik wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're not even worth my time," he growled, turning and grabbing Jack's arm, pulling him along and out of the bathhouse to join the line that had formed against the castle wall.

"I get so fucking creeped out when he uses my name," Sheik hissed to Jack, releasing his arm only when the two of them were leaning against the wall, side by side. "Somehow, it's almost easier thinking that he only sees me as an object. When he uses my name, it just makes it all seem so much more… evil."

Jack sighed as Dack joined the line as well, setting against the wall a few people down from them. "I really wish I wouldn't let myself get dragged up in your shit, but fuck me for starting to feel a bit of sympathy for you. That man is… vile. I guess it's my fault for caring. Which I don't. Not really."

Sheik snorted. "I haven't forgotten. You mention it at least once a day."

Jack huffed. "Yeah, well, you mention your bloody prince at least once a day."

Sheik frowned. "Well… I miss him. I'll never see him again. Can you blame me? Especially when I'm being made to deal with that?"

"I can blame you for anything I want," Jack said, elbowing him.

"Quit fucking sticking your tiny little elbow in my side, would you?" Sheik hissed. "That's like the tenth time today, and it's sharp!"

"I could quit if you would stop being so dumb…" Jack mumbled, and a call from the guard at the far end of the line had them all moving back towards the castle doors. As they walked, Sheik kept himself hyper-aware of Dack, a few people behind them in the line. He sighed, reaching up to rub at the point between his eyes. He would get through all of this; he just had to keep telling himself that. Hell, he'd held his own against Dack just now. Maybe that meant he was getting better.

Link's days of past had become a blur of waking and not immediately remembering where he was or what had happened to him. He couldn't keep track of segments of time anymore. Some days he wondered where Sheik was, and some days he wondered where his old manservant was—why he wasn't waking Link up to make sure he bathed and was dressed. Where was he? When was he? Had it all been a dream? Lord Ganon? The Goddesses? Sheik?

His hand hurt, and he felt… unbalanced. The morning after Ganon had cut his finger off, Link had awoken still slumped in the throne to a poorly-bandaged, bloody mess. It… it was still bandaged now, but during the long days when Link had nothing to do but sit on the small cot in the dungeon cell he had been moved to, he found himself staring at it. And… again, it hurt. It hurt badly, the way he imagined any mortal wound would, and he often found himself wondering whether the discomfort would ever fade away. He wondered if Sheik's hand still hurt, or if he still felt the same phantom pain that Link was experiencing. He… he wondered if Sheik was still alive. He wondered how much longer he himself would be alive for.

Once Ganon wrestled Farore from him—as he'd promised to do numerable times—Link would become useless to him. And now, the man even had Link put up in a dungeon cell, awaiting whatever kind of torture or whatever else he had planned for him. It had been two days since what happened in the throne room; and since he'd been brought down here, not once had someone come to see him, apart from bringing him meals once or twice a day. He worried about his father and Zelda, wondering if they were somewhere in the dungeon as well, feeling as lost and useless as he was.

Above all, though, Link felt angry. He wanted a chance—just a chance—to get back at Ganon for doing all this, for tearing them all apart. He wanted to pick up a sword and challenge the man one-on-one and just… just prove to him that Link could do him some damage! That he was capable of hurting him! Because the man was responsible for sending Sheik back to the prisons—ruining his life for a second time! Ganon had made his family into prisoners! He had cut off his fucking finger!

"Stuck in here, though," Link mumbled to himself, pulling his legs underneath him and slumping against the wall, propping his injured hand delicately on his leg. He felt the need to wiggle that little finger sometimes, like a little itch, even though he knew it was no longer there to wiggle.

"Damn it…" Link muttered, shifting again so that he was sitting with his legs crossed. He cleared his throat, raising his voice in a directionless shout out into the hallways. "If you're going to keep me in this goddess's damned box for the rest of my tragically shortened life, you could at least get me some different clothes!" He hoped there was even someone around to hear him. "I've been stuck in this blood-stained muck for days now!" He was filthy; and still in so much pain…

Link thought he heard footsteps, but that could have just been his imagination. After all, in the dim torch-light, it was impossible to see much outside the bars of his cell, so it would be impossible for him to see anyone coming, anyways. He shifted his injured hand again, wincing at the flood of pain, baring his teeth. "And if you don't want me to die before your Master is through with me, some fresh bandages wouldn't be fucking amiss!" Link huffed, sure now that all of this was going unheard. "A sword would be nice, too, so I can stab it through his fucking head!"

"You're exhibiting very violent tendencies," Ganon's voice came from the dark outside Link's cell, and while Link figured he should probably be surprised, he really only felt annoyed. Did Ganon frighten him? Well, yes, he did—he was absolutely mad, not to mention the fact that he had absolute power over Link and his family—but really, more than anything, Link just wanted to get back at him. He wanted to get free and then come back and… and kill him!

Link frowned, slowly standing up as Ganon came to stand at the cell door, the flickering torches offering just enough illumination that Link could make out his golden eyes and the golden embroidery on his jerkin.

"Finally showing your fucking face, huh?" Link spat, sounding braver than he felt. He padded towards the bars on stiff and tired legs. Trapped in a small cell, he'd not been able to move around much, and his joints were showing him that.

"Why?" Ganon asked calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Were you awaiting me? You must be very eager, then, to rid yourself of Farore, despite her being the only reason you're still alive." His eyes moved down Link's body, coming to rest on his bandaged hand. "And how is your hand?" he asked, though it was clear by his bland tone that he didn't care. "Is it bothering you terribly much? I heard you caterwauling about it when I was making my way down here."

Link wrinkled his nose, his upper lip pulling back from his teeth. "Gee," he snarled. "I wonder if my hand that you chopped a finger off of hurts?!" Link held his hand up for the man to see, red-brown-stained bandaging and all. "What do you fucking think? Does doing all this to me give you some kind of sick pleasure?!"

Ganon's expression remained impassive, but his eyes flicked from Link's hand back to his face. "It's that kind of aggression that got you a finger cut off in the first place," he said mildly. "I only did it because your behavior needed… correcting." He raised one thick, red eyebrow. "It's actually rather sounding like you need further correcting."

Link dropped his hand, narrowing his eyes. "Where's my father?" he demanded. "And Zelda!"

Ganon blinked at him, looking like he was considering whether or not to tell him. "Your father is being kept in a cell not far from here. The only reason that I haven't killed him yet is because I need him to make a public announcement to the people, passing his rule to me. He is still refusing to comply, but…" Ganon's lips quirked into a satisfied smile. "I'm working to, hmm… change his mind." He let out an abrupt laugh, tossing his head back.

Link bit his lip, studying the floor for a second, just trying to collect himself. His entire world was falling apart—hollowing out. Over the last few days, he'd found himself wondering exactly what it was he was still fighting to live for. His family? It seemed that no matter what he did, they were doomed. Was it to help Sheik? He was beyond Link's reach right now. But what about revenge? Revenge on this man—Lord Ganon—who was peeling up layer after layer of Link's skin and foundation, laughing as he squirmed.

"I don't think compliance will take Daniel too much longer," Ganon quipped. "You see, all it takes for him to stop shouting is the mention of you."

Link huffed, his eyes dropping from Ganon's again. He had them all so well-cornered. How was Link supposed to do anything in time to stop it? How was he supposed to get out of iron bars? He swallowed, trying to come to terms with the fact that… that his father… his father… well, that Link might not be able to help him; to even see him alive again.

Link couldn't accept that. He just couldn't accept that someone was playing them all, pulling their strings like painted marionettes.

"And your sister," Ganon said, breaking Link from his thoughts. Link looked up to find the man with a slight frown and pinched eyebrows, looking perturbed. "Is no longer with us."

…What?

Link's stomach dropped. What?! Zelda! She was… He'd said… Zelda!

Link was ready to fucking kill. He reared back and kicked the iron bars in front of his with as much force as he could muster, again and again, his blood boiling with white-hot rage, preceding a deep, black sadness that he wasn't ready to feel. He wanted to hurt, and tear, and make Ganon pay for… for…

Oh dear goddesses above, he couldn't even think it! How could she be dead?! Not Zelda! Out of all of them, she was the one who deserved to live! She was patient, and kind, and…

Oh, Link's mind went a thousand places in that second, remembering them being young together, her reading him stories when he was too small to read them himself, pushing her round spectacles up her little face, tucking a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear and then doing the same for him, smiling. He remembered wrestling with her when they were barely more than toddlers, and being scolded by their amused mother when she found them with mud all over their best clothes. She listened to him, and she was constantly there for him. She was Link's rock, his foundation. He'd always wanted to rule Hyrule by her side, and… and…

And fuck! Link was going to tear Ganon apart with his bare hands!

…She was his big sister.

Ganon watched him with a mild indifference. "You're going to injure your foot. These bars are wrought iron, boy, they won't break or bend to your tantrum."

Link glared at him through angry, watery eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening. "You killed my sister!" he accused.

"I did no such thing," Ganon replied coolly.

Link froze, trying to process this new information though his grief. "Y-you…" he stammered. "You—"

"If you're done with your… displays of antagonism," Ganon interrupted. "I didn't come down here to listen to your hysterics. I came down here because I wanted to experiment with a recent theory of mine. Would you be a good boy and go sit on your cot?" It was clearly an order.

Link felt numb all over—emotionally spent—and he wasn't even sure what he was supposed to think anymore. "P-please. W-won't you tell me what you mean, about… about her?" he stammered, wiping at his eyes. He looked up at Ganon doubtfully, feeling so empty, all of his previous anger drained out of him because of the shock.

"No," Ganon said shortly. "I'm rather perturbed about the whole situation, actually, and I feel no need to explain it. Not to an over-petulant boy who is meant to be my prisoner," he spat. Now sit."

In a bit of a daze, Link shook his head. He didn't know what to think anymore—whether his sister was living or in fact dead—but he knew one thing for sure, and it was that he wasn't going to do one fucking thing that Lord Ganon told him to do.

"There are no guards here to hold me in place," Link whispered, still staring off at nothing. "If you want me to do what you say, you're going to have to come into this cell and make me do it. You're going to have to get your own fucking hands dirty."

Ganon raised his thick, russet eyebrows, somehow managing to look both patient and enraged. "Last time you didn't offer me full compliance, my little thing, you got very hurt. I can do that again."

Link sneered, coming back to himself. "What are you going to do to me? Cut off another finger? Pull out my teeth? Or just throw me into a wall like you did last time, with Din's power?!" He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. "You don't fucking scare me, you know. Despite what you did, and despite what you could still do. I don't care."

Ganon raised his hand in the air, fingers clawed in a circle, looking like he was holding some kind of invisible orb. He clenched his fingers in, and instantly, Link felt a bit lightheaded; he was nearly sure it was Ganon who was causing it.

"How can you do that?" he whispered. "How do you know how to use her power, when I can't even—?"

"Because," Ganon hissed, a sneer on his face as he pulled a key from his robe. "I know magic that a boy like you couldn't dream of. I was raised by powerful sorceresses in the desert, I pulled the Three out of the very heavens, and I have forced the goddess Din to submit to me! Me! I have the power! And soon I will do the same to Farore."

Link shook his head. "And you're going to kill them," he said flatly. "You're able to control their power, and yet you want to kill them? Why? What's the point?"

"Yes, I want them dead. Ended," Ganon replied, voice easy. "Because once I have what I want from them, once their power is mine, there will be no reason for their existence! Their power will belong to me, and I will not allow them to remain to challenge me. What use is there for three goddesses when I will be a god?" He blinked slowly, raising his chin. "The situation for them is much the same as your own family, my dear prince."

Link took a step closer to the bars, his eyes trailing down to where Ganon held the key. "Do you think they're going to try to stop you?" Link asked, looking back up at him carefully, calculating. "The Three?"

"Din railed against me with everything she had," Ganon replied. "She is strong." He quirked a smile. "Very strong. But she is under a powerful binding spell, one that I cast recurrently." He shook his head, practically spitting. "Because she is always trying to break it."

"Then… why hasn't Farore… broken out of me yet?" Link demanded. "If you need some powerful binding spell just to keep Din in check, then why am I okay? Why is she not tearing me apart from the inside out?"

"Because you are no threat to her, little prince. You're her shield." He laughed, hand clenching around the key. "Her comforter. From me. If anything, she's desperate for you to stay preserved." A strange expression spread its way across his face. "She's been trying to shield you from me, you know."

Link furrowed his brow. "That can't be true," he murmured, half to himself. "She deserted me, when you…" He trailed off, eyes going down to where Ganon was now turning the key in the lock. Link swallowed. "When you…" He couldn't quite remember what he'd been saying.

The key clicked in the lock. Link took a step back. "If you come in here," he said, low. "I will do everything I can to hurt you."

Ganon let out a soft chuckle. "You don't frighten me, child." With a grating squeak, he swung the bars open, watching Link with acute concentration. "Go on, little prince, run away!" he offered, stepping to the side so that there was a clear path for Link to leave the cell through. "Let's play the cat and mouse game one more time! You'll see how far you get!"

"I'm not falling for that!" Link cried, throwing his arms out to the side. "Push me around with your fucking stolen magic all you want! I don't care if I said you could take Farore! You're getting nothing from me now, and I will stop you!"

He took a step into the cell, and Link tensed, his muscles tightening, ready to run if need be. His hand felt like it was on fire, but he'd be damned if he wasn't ready to give his all. It didn't matter how small he was, he could do it.

Ganon took a step closer to him, crowding him further into the cell, and he raised his hand again, fingers clutched in the same way as before, like he held some sort of magical, invisible orb. Link tried to back away, but his legs hit the cot before long, and then he was trapped with this hulk of a man blocking the way out, looming over him.

Something clutched in Link's chest, caused by the magic Ganon was weaving. "Sit," Ganon commanded softly, and Link was compelled to do just that. Whatever he was doing with his hand, it was forcing Link, taking his choice completely out of the equation. Even the desire to try and get free—to struggle and rebel—had been robbed of him. He felt only a cool numbness where all of his fire should be. This was dark magic indeed.

"Lie down, young one," Ganon instructed, and Link picked up his feet and lay back on the metal cot, looking blankly up at the ceiling. Somewhere in the back of his stolen mind, what little part of himself that he was still in control of was screaming at him to stop obeying, but he just… he couldn't! He was a living doll to Ganon—an unwilling puppet—and oh, he'd never felt such despair. He was angry still yet, but a great wash of hopelessness was crashing over him with tidal force, drowning him.

If Link were in control of any part of himself, he'd be doubled over, weeping until his throat was hoarse and his eyes ached.

"You precious thing," Ganon murmured, his tone a sickening amalgam of false compassion and mockery. He was towering over Link, his hand a claw three feet above his chest. "Today's session will be over in an hour or two, and I wouldn't worry your pretty head too much. Only parts of this will hurt, and I promise you that when it's all over and Farore is mine, I'll give you the freedom of death; you won't carry her burden or her pain anymore. I've heard it said that eternal sleep offers a bliss all its own."

Though the pain Ganon promised him had started yet, Link feared more days like this to come. Deep down inside, he almost wanted the eternal sleep that the man spoke of; because what point to life could there be after he had endured what Ganon had in store for him? And when? When would he get his chance to strike back? To fight him on fair ground and drive a silver-white sword through his evil chest?

Link closed his eyes, this very image—of Ganon's death—the focus of his entire being. Someday, somehow, he would make it come to pass.

Like I said, an angry little hornet. Let me know in a review or PM if you have any questions or comments. Heh, next chapter should be of the action-y, exciting variety!