"-actually think you were trying to prove something by erupting like that in front of the Royal Council? What is the matter with you, Ilya? Have you suddenly gone out of your mind? What kind of an example are you setting for those who will come after you? Don't forget: you are a representative of the Sheikah; when you do something wrong, it reflects upon all of us! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your behavior was totally unacceptable, by both Sheikah standards and the code of ethics set by the Royal Family. I have a mind to drag you down to the council chamber like an unruly child and allow you to bow before those who have expressed such patience for your intolerable insolence!"

Sheik listened mutely to Impa as she energetically blessed him out while he sat, arms crossed over his chest like a moody teenager and his head turned to the side. He had never seen or heard her so angry before, and if he had not been accustomed to her presence she probably would have frightened the life out of him at this moment. She was a formidable looking woman as it was, but when her temper was loosed it was enough to put fear into the hearts of demons.

Sheik knew his chances of getting a word in edgewise were nil, so he waited until this verbal lashing had been played out in its totality before attempting to defend himself.

"-and furthermore," Impa said in a tone that signaled the conclusion of her lecture, "you have demonstrated a complete disobedience to orders set by both the Sages and Her Highness, taking off for several days without sending word to anyone and wasting precious time! Do you realize that by doing this and allowing those two to escape you have drastically thinned the chances of us ever seeing a day beyond Ganondorf's defeat?" Impa shook her head sadly. "I never thought I would say this to any of my people, but you are a disgrace, Ilya. You have brought shame and dishonor to the name of Sheikah."

"It would not matter then, since it is not our true name," Sheik muttered. "I bring shame and dishonor to the slaves of royalty, not the Shikara."

Impa's expression fell, her anger dissipating as quickly as darkness before a flame. "Who told you that?" she murmured quietly.

"No one," Sheik replied. "I found out for myself." He paused, glaring at Impa hurtfully. "You knew of our past, didn't you? You knew of the crimes committed against our people. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you do something? Why did you remain silent? How can you sleep knowing that you are the result of centuries of documented breeding? How can you be so content to dutifully serve those who have given you no choice but to serve them? Do your people matter that little to you now?"

"Ilya," the Sheikah woman said softly. "Those events took place long, long ago. They do not concern you now-"

"Not concern me?Impa! They took our people and butchered them! They imprisoned them as if they were criminals! They bred us like beasts to serve them, and to this day we have seen no change in their ways. I refuse to allow myself to be bound to the lives of those who have destroyed the culture of our entire people. To continue to live as their personal servants is a thousand times more disgraceful and humiliating than any act of defiance I could have possibly committed-"

"Calm yourself!" Impa ordered. "There is no need to stir up the past when it has already settled."

"Settled?" Sheik spat. "Nothing has settled, Impa. It's just been forgotten. This matter was never resolved. It was never brought to light. Don't tell me that it has been settled."

The Sheikah woman scowled. "You never had a problem serving the Royal Family before—why does it bother you now? Do you live in the past, Ilya? Have you forgotten about the present, or the future if there even is one?"

"I am changed," the young man said firmly, "because now I know the truth. All along I felt in a small corner of my heart that something was not right in the make-believe tales of our forefathers. And now I know that my feelings proved to be correct. How can I forgive my superiors for these crimes against us, when they have not even offered so much as a sniff of an apology, when they have chosen to hide it and hope that it is forgotten? They have the audacity to believe that the Shikara are so ignorant that they would forget the pain and the heartache of centuries past."

Sheik reached up and placed a hand upon his chest, over the concealed journal and in the center of the weeping-eye emblem of his people. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Impa who was standing across the way.

"Now I know why this symbol is called the Eye of Truth. For hundreds of years the Shikara have hoped that their children and their children's children would search for and find the truth behind their 'missing' past, and perhaps do something to set the wrong things right. And I have no doubt in my heart that I am the one chosen to do this."

"You talk of heresy," Impa uttered in a hushed whisper. "How can you feel the need to so boldly betray those who have looked after you your entire life and kept you?"

"A farmer shall keep and look after his livestock, treat them well, care for them, keep them warm . . . but in the end he will take them to the slaughterhouse and smash their skulls without a second thought." Sheik's voice fell to a low hiss. "I once saw a man in Kakariko take a chicken in his hands and slowly, one by one, pluck each feather from its body. It fluttered and squawked and beat its wings, but the man continued until no feathers remained. Finally he set the chicken down, and it fled; but he held out a handful of corn to it, and the chicken came back to him and ate from his hand."

Sheik stood from his chair and began to pace. "No matter how brutal our masters treat us, we still feed from their hands, deluded by the idea that they did not just strip us of our clothes and leave us bare and naked in the wind. We are their mindless fowls, Impa. You see honor in serving them, but I do not. I never did. I never wished to serve them at all."

"Then what do you wish?" the Sheikah woman demanded.

"I wish to be among my people, helping them reclaim what royalty has stolen from them long ago!" the young man cried. "I wish to take them far away from here, someplace where we can live our lives in freedom again and rebuild our lost culture. I loathe being the lapdog to a powerless monarch who allows herself to be so easily manipulated by those around her. Zelda is not the ruler of Hyrule; she is merely an aesthetic symbol of the days of yore. Those who stand in the shadows behind her are the ones with all the power, and they are corrupted, all of them! The Sages, the Council, everyone has a plan to follow, and I utterly refuse to stand aside and watch that silly little girl sign away the entire country into the hands of nefarious politicians!"

"Lower your voice, Ilya!" Impa begged. "These are words of madness!"

"And what is madness? Something we have been taught to believe in? Taught by the very powers that oversee us? No! It is not madness! It is the truth being brought to light, and everyone bound by the shackles of royalty thinks it is madness!"

Impa stepped forward and placed her hands upon the young man's shoulders, calming his fury-driven trembling. Crimson eyes gazed at each other, two shades of red separated by their beliefs. The woman sighed heavily and offered up a slight smile, reaching over to tuck a stray tendril of Sheik's pale blond hair that had flown loose during his argument back behind his ear.

"You are not like us, Ilya," she said softly, "otherwise you would have seen the futility in trying to fight against them. Though you are a Sheikah by birth, some part of you still burns with the fire that once died out in our people's spirits long ago. You have strength in you that none of our people have shown, unprecedented courage, unnatural wisdom . . ."

"Good breeding, perhaps," Sheik muttered darkly.

"No, Ilya. Those are traits that cannot be passed down through flesh: strength of the spirit, courage of the heart, wisdom of one whose mind is unpolluted by the malignant politics of others. But Ilya, if you continue to revoke the wishes of our superiors, I fear that these gifts will be silenced by the guillotine. I could not bear to see such a thing."

"Then join me," Sheik uttered. "If the Sheikah unite under this single cause, we might have a chance of establishing our independence again!"

"I cannot," Impa said. "I am a Sage, Ilya. I am bound to the throne of Hyrule. I cannot simply leave whenever I please. I have responsibility. I am afraid I cannot help you. I'm sorry."

Sheik shut his lips and stared hurtfully at the Shadow Sage, until she was forced to look away, unable to bear the torment of the young man's expression of confusion and betrayal.

"I must go," she said at last, turning to leave the room. "Rauru has called the other Sages to a meeting in order to-" Pause. "To discuss the matters at hand. Try to rest, Ilya. You have endured much hardship."

"It is not nearly enough to atone for what has already been served to my forbears," he muttered under his breath.

Impa departed with a regretful look, leaving the broad wooden doors of the royal parlor slightly ajar. Sheik sighed heavily and collapsed in the chair at the long polished table and ran his hands through his dirty, tangled hair. Impa was right. He was exhausted. All the traveling and the worrying and the fighting against the unmovable mountains of the monarchy had left him at the end of his ropes, emotionally, spiritually and physically.

At least the Council hadn't sentenced him to death. Of course, he could think of a lot of things worse than death right now, such as grounding him to the palace for Din only knows how long, a punishment that he was currently serving. Unable to leave the castle grounds unescorted was his verdict, reinforced by the threat of severe bodily injury if he were to disobey. Sheik felt as if he were chained to the mast of a sinking ship, being dragged to hell below the waves with the rest of the corrupted men.

Hands suddenly rested upon his shoulders—cold, hard hands—and he started slightly, having heard no one approach from behind. A deep and familiar voice, soaked with sarcasm and mockery, said from somewhere above: "Dear little Ilya, have your mutinous attempts left you weary? You poor, sweet, unfortunate child."

Counselor Mortimus.

Sheik was about to launch himself out of his chair but the hands on his shoulders kept him seated. "You are a despicable man," he muttered brazenly, though his heart was pounding with fear from being caught with his guard down.

"Now, now," the counselor tsked, "what kind of an example are you setting for those who will come after you?"

Sheik felt his insides freeze over, taking his breath away when he heard the phrase repeated. But somehow, despite the dread and fear coursing through his body, a small part of him that could never be touched by the wintry malevolence of the fallen raised its voice, and Sheik managed to utter: "You mean the next generation of royal slaves? Monstrous. If I could have it my way, there will be none who come after me."

"That is well," said the counselor, leaning down to whisper in Sheik's ear, "because I intend to keep it so."

This time Sheik was able to spring to his feet and whip around to face Mortimus, who was smirking in amusement but making no threatening advances. Sheik wished he had his knives with him. Royal Counselor or not, the man would look far better with a few blades lodged in his skull.

At least that was Sheik's sentiment toward him, the tall, thin, black-haired man whom had been a shadowy presence in the palace for as long as the he could remember. There were few things that frightened Sheik, even as a small boy, but the counselor's presence had always made him uneasy. Mortimus was unnaturally pale and ugly. His nose was a misshapen, pointed beak that was too large for his face, and his scaly skin had a yellowy tint to it that made him resemble a corpse. He had dark eyes set into greenish-purple hollows, so dark that the pupils could not even be seen. Always they seemed to be watching, staring, observing with a predator's hungry glare, and they were like bottomless holes that sucked in any person who became locked by his gaze. Children were terrified of him. Even adults were made anxious when he walked into the room, as smoothly and silently as a noxious cloud of poison.

Sheik had done his best to avoid the counselor, but there were times that even a Sheikah's skills could not conceal him from Mortimus' awareness.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Why have you come here?"

The man extended his arm and said darkly, "Hand it over."

Sheik took a step back and bumped into the table; he gripped the edge tightly. "Hand what over?"

"Don't feign stupidity with me, boy! Give me the journal."

The thin leather text beneath Sheik's uniform burned against his skin, as if the mere mention of it were causing its pages to ignite. He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I carry nothing." He held his arms open with the hopes that perhaps Mortimus would believe him. But as Sheik feared, he did not.

The counselor lowered his arm. "Very well," he said lowly. "If you will not give it to me willingly then I shall simply be forced to take it from you."

With inhuman swiftness Mortimus lunged forward, caught Sheik by the shoulders and slammed him down onto the table. Sheik's head collided with the wood and for a few moments he was blinded by white pain. His spine ached as he was bent backwards, lying halfway on the table. When his vision returned, he looked above him to see the most frightening and repulsive grin crawl its way onto Mortimus' thin lips.

One hand seized Sheik's throat tightly and the frantic young man scrabbled at it helplessly, unable to breathe. Using his free hand, Mortimus grabbed the front of Sheik's uniform and ripped it open, exposing his bare chest and the journal that was lying upon it. He snatched it up and released Sheik's throat, thumbing through the book as calmly as if nothing had happened at all.

Sheik sucked in a breath of air and placed a hand to his throat, knowing that it would be bruised in a few hours. "You b-bastard," he croaked in a raw voice.

Mortimus ignored him as if he were not even worth a glance. "As I thought," the counselor sighed in only a vaguely annoyed tone. "Knowledge is indeed power. Ignorance is the most successful way of controlling people, and when that method is challenged it leads to rebellion and anarchy."

"Anarchy is what you are attempting to establish," Sheik spat, still rubbing his throat. "You've been corrupting the throne of Hyrule for years, and now you're out to usurp it."

"Prove it," Mortimus muttered ominously. "Just try, little Sheikah. No one will believe you."

"I will make them believe!"

"If you can, I commend you," the counselor said, "for diplomacy is difficult to achieve from a prison cell."

He gestured to someone behind Sheik's back, and two armed guards appeared and snatched a hold of him tightly. Sheik bucked and surged wildly to free himself, and had partially succeeded when suddenly he was struck across the face by Mortimus. The cut on Sheik's bottom lip was reopened with an intense stinging, and blood trickled down his chin. While he was momentarily stunned by the unplanned blow, the guards regained their grip on him, wrenching his arms painfully until the young man was rendered immobile.

The counselor took Sheik by his blond hair and jerked it so that he was forced to look into those black, angry eyes. "Ilya of the Sheikah Clan," he narrated, "was officially released from his duties to the Royal Family in the year 2288. He returned to Kakariko for a few weeks before setting off in search of justice for a crime that was never committed. He vanished from the land of Hyrule and was never seen again." Mortimus paused, smiling triumphantly. "I will be certain that the books reflect that, such as it is. Though it certainly is a shame that you never bothered to bid farewell to your friends. It was as if you had almost been—dare I say it? Erased from history."

The rage and horror that rushed through Sheik overwhelmed him, and in his fury, he spat droplets of blood into the counselor's face. "Burn in hell," he growled, tugging defiantly in his captors' hold.

Mortimus calmly released Sheik's hair and wiped the spattering of blood from his face with his sleeve. "We will all burn someday," he said, "every last one of us. And nothing shall remain but the ashes and a long-dead memory." With those words, he held the journal out at arm's length, and with a sudden crackle, it burst into flames.

Panic seized Sheik, and he leapt and kicked strenuously to break free, shouting as loudly as he could with his bruised throat, which sadly was not loud enough to be heard. He could only watch as the small book that held the last evidence of his people's torture was reduced to black ash in a matter of seconds.

The counselor nonchalantly dumped the ashes onto the floor and wiped his hands. "A sad end to a sad story," was his epitaph.

Sheik's mind seemed suddenly lost, bits and pieces of memories flying past his consciousness like a flock of birds. But why then did his thoughts focus upon Navi's voice? Of all things, he recollected the fairy's words and slowly formed the scene from his memory: when Link had summoned Din's Flame by accident with Veil's aid, and then forgotten how he had done it.

"It shouldn't have worked without the spoken summon," Navi's voice was saying. "Calling upon magic requires at least an incantation or symbolic gesture, unless of course, you happen to be a wizard . . . "

"Could Link have that kind of power, Navi?" Sheik heard his own voice ask.

"No, no he should not. Only the most powerful sorcerers can summon magic by thought alone."

Sheik's mouth fell ajar, and for the first time he willingly stared Counselor Mortimus in the eyes. "You . . ." he murmured. "You're one of them. You're one of the Darsaith!"

Mortimus grinned. "He receives the answer at last. Honestly, you Sheikah are so woefully imperceptive of the obvious, and what little you can manage to comprehend is but the tip of the iceberg. What a pity that that information and your people's history will die with you in the dungeons, Ilya. You would have been perfect . . ." He trailed off and turned his back. "Take him away."

And stunned beyond all reaction, Sheik was dragged from the room.

Link and Veil trotted Epona at a brisk pace, talking sparingly and keeping the forest always to their right as they traveled south. They rode all day and did not stop until darkness had settled and the pale crescent of the moon began to ascend from behind the far distant mountains. It was unseasonably cold that night, and Link was grateful for the long cloak he was wearing, and the fact that Veil's warm body behind him never seemed to catch a chill.

Dark clouds slowly drew in from the west and shrouded the light of the moon until it was almost pitch black, and the cold wind that had been sweeping across the hills grew stronger and frostier. Link shivered and Veil, with his owlish ability, could see his master's breath forming a small cloud each time he exhaled. He opened his cloak and wrapped it around the Hylian, embracing him tightly to keep him warm.

Navi fretted, gyrating in the air about the two riders. "Link, we must stop. Epona cannot see in this darkness."

"Couldn't we light a lantern?" Veil asked.

"If we wanted to be c-caught," Link said. "No, we can't risk it."

The shadow mused. "What if I led Epona on foot? I can see well enough."

"And l-leave me up here to freeze?" Link said half-jokingly. "These cloaks aren't very warm, m-mind you. They were intended to conceal, not to k-keep out the cold."

"You can walk beside me. I'll hold you."

"I d-don't think I could walk all night long, Veil," Link admitted. "If the cold doesn't f-fell me, the lack of rest will. I feel s-so tired already."

"Is it your soul? Should I hold your hand?"

"No, it's n-not that. This is old fashioned tiredness. I would sleep in the saddle if I knew I wouldn't be f-frozen to it in the morning."

"All right then. We'll stop," agreed Veil.

"But we must leave at first light," said Navi. "I'm sure that by tomorrow word will have gotten all over Hyrule, and we're going to have every reeve, soldier and bounty hunter on our tails all the way to Gil-Nemith."

A few yards from the forest's edge they made what was barely considered camp by even castaways' standards, and Navi informed them that she would be keeping a sharp lookout at the tree line in case any enemies showed up. At least the forest offered some protection and cover and, after hitching Epona to a tree, Veil and Link made themselves as comfortable as they possibly could on the cold, damp, hard ground, which wasn't very comfortable at all. Their cloaks weren't water resistant, so the wetness seeped into their clothes and made them clammy and the cold air made it even worse, not to mention that the trees were rather close together and the ground was uneven with all the roots coiling up from it.

Link sighed forcefully for the umpteenth time and rolled over again. Underneath the small blanket they were sharing, Veil lay on his back with his hands beneath his head, untouched by the cold and discomfort and feeling badly for his partner, who unfortunately felt all of it. When Link began fidgeting again after a few moments, Veil finally sat up, grabbed Link by the waist, and rolled him over so that the Hylian—looking rather surprised—was now face to face with him, lying squarely on top.

"There," Veil said with satisfaction as he locked his hands behind his head again. "That ought to stop your wiggling." He smiled lazily, and Link's eyes grew soft.

"You make a rather nice mattress," Link murmured with a grin, and leaned down to press a kiss of gratitude to Veil's lips. It swiftly and unexpectedly grew deeper as The Feeling established itself through their contact and began to work its magic, which, while something of a miracle, wasn't exactly placed at the best time or location. Link and Veil knew that they could not possibly hope to recreate the scene they had shared last night, not with their boots and clothes on, and while they had to be ready at any moment for an ambush by crazed mercenaries, and in such an uncomfortable position on such an uncomfortable surface.

But instinct had shown humans the way for centuries, and so it would show Veil and Link this primal night when all of Man's modern luxuries were forgotten.

The shadow unlatched his hands from behind his head. His right brushed back the golden hair that was tickling his face while his left went under the blanket and found its way beneath Link's tunic, and to the bare skin of the small of his back.

Link broke their kiss to moan softly as he felt his immortal soul flare up like a spark to oil, igniting a burning desire deep within him that sent all sensations of cold fleeing from his body. "Oh Veil," he whispered throatily, blind in the darkness of the night but seeing with his heart as clearly as in daylight. "Veil . . ."

The dark haired young man pulled Link down into another kiss, and beneath the blanket they lay, warmed by each other's presence. They nuzzled and held one another, and for a little while the discomfort of their surroundings faded as they ascended into a world that was all their own.

Link reached down with one hand and untied the leather cords on the front of his fitted pants, freeing his aching length from its painful confinement. He repeated these actions with Veil's pants, and soon the heated, bare flesh of their arousals was rubbing against one another. Link pressed himself close to his lover, slowly grinding his hips against Veil's and causing him to gasp intermittently.

It may not have been as ultimate as actual intercourse, but it still felt incredible and consummated their love all the same.

Afterward, with the hard ground, cold weather and damp environment forgotten, Link placed a small kiss to his twin's scar then tucked his head beneath Veil's chin, closing his eyes. The shadow, still somewhat senseless from the effects of passionate release, had barely managed to catch his breath before his lids began to droop over his blue-gray eyes, and he fell into a peaceful slumber with his hand still resting warmly upon Link's back.

Morning came all too soon, it seemed. Navi returned from her watch at the first bleak signs of dawn and sighed heavily when she saw Link and Veil snuggled so warmly together beneath the blanket. As much as she disliked having to disturb them, they had to get moving. Hoping that perhaps Veil's morning disposition was better than Link's, Navi flew down and called softly into the shadow's ear: "Rise rise, Sleepy! Morning is here!"

Veil murmured and blinked himself awake. "Mm. I'm risen."

"Good. Wake Link while I check on Epona, won't you?"

"Right. M'onnit."

The fairy fluttered off. Veil shifted slowly and rubbed his eyes, then paused as he heard the crackling. Looking down he saw that the blanket—and everything else, in fact—was covered in a thin sheet of icy crystals.

"What on earth?" he whispered to himself, having never seen frost before.

Link's sleeping head was still lying upon Veil's chest, his pale yellow hair practically sparkling with a carpet of ice granules. His breath came in small clouds as he sighed, his cheeks and the tips of his long, pointed ears rosy and warm, and to Veil he looked more handsome than ever.

"Link," he murmured gently, propping himself up on his elbows. "Wake up, Link. Navi says it's time to go."

"Nnhhh," the Hylian groaned, nestling more tightly against his companion.

Veil smiled despite himself and shook his head. Navi was right—he was a reluctant waker. "Come along, Beautiful," he coaxed. "Time to get moving."

Link groaned again in dismay but nevertheless raised his head and opened his eyes.

Veil caught his breath. "Link," he uttered. "Are you all right?"

"Wanna go back t' sleep but yeah, m'fine. Why d'you ask?"

"Your eyes," said the shadow. "They're so pale."

"Prob'ly the light," Link said, sitting up and shaking the frost from his body.

"It's not just that," said Veil. "It's your hair, too. It's gotten paler."

"You're just seeing things, Veil," the Hylian smiled and yawned. "Anyway, I feel fine. Never better." He leaned down and kissed Veil's cheek. "Come on, let's get out of here before the rest of the world catches up to us."

This had been, undoubtedly, the worst three consecutive days of Sheik's life. First he had been thrown in prison and declared a rebel simply for helping his friends, then tried by the Royal Council for crimes he had no idea he had committed, then been verbally beaten to a pulp by Impa, then doomed by Mortimus to spend the rest of his life rotting in a dungeon. Sheik only kept a mental track of the worst days of his life (thus far) in order to serve as a catalyst for him to become stronger in all aspects, but this was utterly ridiculous, not to mention disheartening.

Sheik could still recall the worst single day of his life though, which happened to have been the day that King Zurden, the father of Zelda and the former monarch of Hyrule, had died after months of suffering from an illness that had kept him confined to his bedchamber. Though Sheik was only a young boy when it had happened, he remembered it as clearly as if it were yesterday. He had actually cried then, for the King had been a kind, warm and loving man whom was always pleasant to Sheik. The boy had actually spent very much time with Zurden, who never declined his company and always seemed happy to see him.

Sheik had not shed a single tear when his mother had died and he was sent to live out the rest of his days in Castle Hyrule (which had been the second single-most worst day of his life), yet he forgot his training and sobbed his heart out when the King had passed away. Sheik had never known his father, and so Zurden had been the closest thing to a parent figure that he had ever had.

It was Leith who had found the Sheikah crying in the rosebushes of the royal gardens that dark afternoon, and was perplexed at witnessing emotions which the Sheikah were never seen expressing. His heart went out to the lad, and from that time forward Leith had looked after Sheik from a distance, and as the years wore on he began to think of him more often as his own flesh and blood.

Which is why when the chamberlain overheard the announcement that afternoon that Ilya the Sheikah had returned to Kakariko, he immediately felt in his heart that it was a lie, and that his foster child was in danger. Leith begged his leave of the Royal Council and went to his chamber, gathered up his rapier and scabbard, and pointed himself in the direction of the dungeons, not the common cells where enemies of royalty were imprisoned, but the dungeons that were hidden from anyone outside of the Royal Family—the private bastilles of the west tower reserved for those whose days had been numbered and their fates decided. Though the west tower dungeons hadn't been used in at least two hundred years, Leith knew that that was a good place to begin looking for Sheik, and he was prepared to accept the consequences for his disobedience.

He was not, however, prepared to accidentally encounter a secret meeting between two well known members of the Royal Council en route.

Link, Veil and Navi had journeyed past the mouth of massive stone that led to Lake Hylia earlier that morning; now the forest that had been to their right was replaced by canyon wall. It made them all a little uneasy, knowing that for a short time they would have no place to run or hide if they were attacked.

"Are you worried?" Veil asked softly, though he was fully aware that Link was feeling exactly so.

"Yes," the Hylian admitted, gazing out to the wide open hills at his left.

Navi swooped down and scouted along with him from the top of his head. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.

"That it would take longer to ride along the wall than it would to cut across the field?"

"Exactly."

"It's not like we would have anything to lose," Veil agreed from behind Link. "We've already lost our chief means of protection. I'd say were at more risk by dawdling along the perimeter than bolting across the hills."

"We'd have to calculate our direction," Link muttered, "otherwise we could end up missing our mark by a league or two, and we haven't the time to bother retracing our steps."

"Gentlemen, please," Navi chided good-naturedly. "Remember that you're traveling with someone with a perfect sense of direction."

"I don't know," the Hylian said airily. "You didn't seem too guided when you went and got yourself lost on the outskirts of Gil-Nemith."

Navi gave his hair a gentle yank or two to show her offense and huffed, "Be quiet! I've never traveled in a forest like that before and besides, it was saturated with magic and spells. Nayru herself would have gotten lost in there."

"All right, all right!" Link laughed. "Have mercy on my hair! I wouldn't want a bald spot."

"I'm more than capable of ripping it right out of its roots, you know."

"Indeed, if one strand at a time."

"Why you-!"

Navi began to rub herself speedily across Link's head, sending his hair flying and tangling every which way when a sharp cry from Veil cut their affectionate horseplay short. The dark haired young man was gazing at the heavy gray clouds hovering above them with wonder in his eyes.

"Something is falling," he uttered. "What is it, Link?"

To his own astonishment, Link answered, "Snow . . . !"

The three travelers stared in awe as tiny white flakes began to drift down from the sky, settling upon the frostbitten grass and frozen clovers. There were only a few at first, but they gradually grew more profuse until curtains of snow were silently fluttering to the earth.

"Snow," Veil repeated, smiling in amazement. "It's beautiful!"

While he reveled in the new weather, Navi flew into the hood of Link's cloak. All precipitation was the same to her, and she was as fond of snow as she was rain. "This is wrong, Link," she muttered. "It shouldn't be snowing at this time of year. It's nearly summer."

"I know," he murmured, gazing up at the clouds. "I think it's a sign."

"A sign of what?" the fairy asked.

He frowned, his pale blue eyes filled with alarm but also determination. "That we have no time to lose." He gathered up the reins. "Which way, Navi?"

"That way," she answered, flying out just far enough to point east-southeast before retreating back to the cover of Link's hood. "It should bring us to the strait of the southern forest. Trust me, my memory is perfect."

"I hope so."

And with a brisk command, Epona whinnied and galloped out across the open field.

The dungeons of the west tower weren't exactly dungeons, but more of a series of tiny cells spiraling up the length of a long, wide obelisk jutting out from the west wing of the castle. It had the appearance of an angry arrow embedded into the body of a fallen foe, with a black spire of a roof for its feathers.

Each cell along the winding staircase had but one window, a tiny vertical sliver whose only function was to keep enough fresh air in the room so that the prisoners within would not suffocate and save themselves from suffering. It was barely the breadth of one's hand, and even if it could be widened escape was impossible, even with the longest of ropes. At least in the subterranean dungeons one could entertain the hope of digging their way out to the surface, but as for the west tower, unless you had learned how to grow wings and fly by the time you managed to squeeze your way out of the window, chances are certain you would die a horrible, bloody death on the pikes and stones of the thorn-choked courtyard below.

Not that any prisoner had ever succeeded in escaping from the west tower—the windows in the cells were twelve feet from the floor, and the walls were polished smooth so that no footholds or protruding edges remained. It was a hopeless and depressing sight to witness, much less live in.

Sheik, at the highest cell in the entire tower, had assessed the situation only five minutes after the heavy wooden door had slammed shut and locked tight behind him, and judged it to be impossible to escape from, at least using physical force. Already he had spent nearly a day in his new home, but freeing himself was the least of his concerns, for when later an easterly wind blew through the window, it carried with it flakes of snow that drifted down to where the young man sat huddled against the wall.

He looked up in faint wonder and thought to himself that perhaps a higher power had finally taken pity for his plight and sent a snowstorm to freeze him to death before starvation or insanity could claim him. It was not much to lift his spirits, but at least it meant that he would die as painlessly and quickly as he could hope for.

Sheik shivered but remained seated, curling up only as a reflex. Though he knew the best way to stay alive in cold weather was to keep his blood moving, he had given up on life, the fight against the Hyrulian monarchy, even the idea of liberating his people. After all, he was only one man. What could one man possibly do to change history for his people?

If enough snow drifted in, he decided, he would scrape it up and swallow it, cooling his core temperature and speeding up the dying process. It was going to come eventually. No sense in delaying the inevitable. Better sooner than later. Face it with pride and courage, just like he'd been taught. Certainly, most of the teachings of the Sheikah were of how to live, but when a child became an adult, he was told of his most honorable form of service: dying in the name of the Royal Family. Life was harsh, he had been told, and death was merciful. These were the teachings of his people.

Sheik closed his eyes and sighed, his breath clearly visible in the cold light of the late afternoon. So many things left unfinished, so many words left unsaid. He wished he could have seen Link one last time, to have talked to him and told him how much he honored and cared for him. To have said good-bye to Veil and Navi, to have apologized to Impa for upsetting her, to have explained his reasons to Leith, even if they were a lie, to keep his heart from aching and wondering.

Sheik suddenly hated the fact that he loved and cared about so many people, and that so many people loved and cared about him. If only he had followed the rules set by the Sheikah, if only he had been callous and free from virtues like compassion and empathy, it would have made dying so much easier.

Suddenly Sheik heard footsteps from the stairwell outside his prison, along with a pair of loud, boisterous voices. He scrambled to his feet and looked about frantically for a place to hide, thinking that perhaps he could find a way to slip out the unguarded door if only he had someplace to conceal himself. Alas, he did not have enough time to entertain any possible hiding places as the door to his cell was wrenched open.

Two guards stood in the threshold, and Sheik immediately recognized one of them as the man that had "escorted" him to the Royal Council the previous morning. By the grins that stole across their faces, he knew what they had come for.

"Stay ba-" was all he managed to utter before they descended upon him, armor clattering as they struggled to overpower him, and succeeded.

The first guard, his "escort", stood and leered at Sheik while the second guard held his arm twisted behind his back in a delicate and painful position where it could be broken at the slightest whim. The first one leaned down and took the young man by the jaw, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive cut on his bottom lip and opening it wide, causing him to cry out involuntarily as blood began to run down his still-stained chin. Tears of pain and humiliation brimmed in his ruby eyes.

"Well, if it isn't the cheeky little Sheikah brat," the sentry chuckled. "Fancy meeting you up here. Still criminal and pretty as ever, I see."

The second guard cackled in Sheik's ear as the first one casually toyed with the torn front of his uniform.

"We're going to play a game, lad," he said levelly. "It's called Give and Take; you give us what we want, and we take our time in receiving it! Ha ha!"

The two awful men burst into laughter and Sheik felt his cheeks ignite with rage. He jerked forward to aim a kick at the guard, but the one behind him put Sheik in his place with a slight twist that sent shockwaves of agony shooting into his shoulder.

"Augh!" he cried out, and the first guard grabbed him by the hair.

"Hurts, doesn't it? If you're a good lad it'll only hurt a little. If you're bad . . . Well, we have ways of making you wish you were dead. Understand?" He pulled Sheik's hair when he didn't respond and repeated, "Understand?"

"Yes! Yes, I understand!" he shouted.

The guard let go and stepped back. "Good. Now be still and I'll be finished with you in a little while-"

"Ey!" exclaimed the second guard indignantly. "I want at 'im first, you pig!"

"Shut your face! I'm having at him first. I filched the keys, I should get the privilege."

"Horse shit! You don't want 'im when he's still dry an' tight. Let me get 'im nice and wet for you."

"I don't want to be fucking his hole with your mess all up in him! Besides, you'll loosen him up, and I like my cunts tight, heh heh!"

Sheik shut his eyes tight and tried to deafen himself to their shamefully crude words. Hopefully he would die after this. Maybe if he were feisty and disagreeable they would kill him and spare him the trouble of waiting to die. If only they would just finish him off so that he didn't have to endure this final torment he would have been satisfied; even if they violated his dead body, at least his soul would be someplace else.

The second guard's voice slapped him back to reality with a comment that made Sheik's blood boil: "I 'aven't had the pleasure of rolling with a Sheikah for a long time. They're all palace whores, even your mum, I bet."

"I've had my share of Sheikah slits," the other boasted. "Fact I wouldn't be surprised if I was your dad!"

"You talk a load of shit, mate! This boy's far too lovely to be a kid 'a yours."

"Shut up, dogface! You're no piece of work, neither!"

"Ah, quit blabbing and prick 'im already. I'm tired of waiting."

"All right, all right! Stop whining!"

As the first guard eagerly set to work removing his armor—gauntlets, pauldrons and breastplate—the second guard grinned and leaned down, running his tongue along Sheik's elegant, pointed ear, murmuring to him in a ugly rasp:

"You're trembling, love. Never taken cock before? I wonder . . ." The man's free hand roamed over Sheik's firm abdomen and made its way down between his legs. "Little Sheikah boys're rare these days. King must've liked you, eh? Keep you all to hisself, did 'e? Or perhaps that old chap who's always following you around? You prob'ly been swiveling on cocks all your life. I bet you like boys, don't you? You seem the type who would."

Sheik silently endured the foul words and filthy caresses of the guard, praying that it would all be over soon. He vaguely wondered if it would hurt badly, if he would bleed. He hoped that if he bled, it would be to death. He knew the chances were ridiculously slim at best, but maybe if he could "accidentally" cut himself on their armor . . .

Suddenly there was a strange sound, and Sheik opened his eyes to see the first guard shaking where he stood, and looking down at the tip of the rapier that had pierced his torso from behind and come through the other side. The man gurgled, and a stream of blood poured from his mouth. The rapier disappeared and the guard toppled over, groaning loudly.

"What the-?" exclaimed the second guard, peering out from behind his victim.

In that moment, Sheik wrenched his arm free from the guard's grip and whipped around, landing a punch so powerful that it broke the disgusting man's nose with a resounding crack. He stumbled backwards with a scream and an oath, and the first guard began howling where he lay writhing on the floor. A figure sprang on top of him and buried the rapier in his throat, silencing him.

Sheik threw himself upon the second guard, going blind and deaf in his fury as he lay into his enemy without mercy, pummeling and cracking and beating until his fists were drenched in blood. He did not stop, not even after the guard had died of trauma. Sheik's rescuer had to drop his blade and grab onto his arms to cease the useless violence. Once the young man had been pacified, he broke down and wept.

His hero, none other than Leith himself, gathered Sheik into his arms and cradled him for a few moments. "It's all right, Ilya," he said in a steady voice. "It's all over. It's done. You're safe."

Sheik smiled through his tears and choked, "You were almost too late."

"I'm sorry. I had to wait until the guard had removed his armor. I couldn't slay him otherwise."

"You had planned to kill?"

"No. But I changed my mind."

Sheik gulped and wiped the blood spatters from his face, gazing out at the two dead bodies lying in bloody pools on the floor. "You are going to be in so much trouble," he said shakily. "They will sentence you to death."

"I care not," said Leith. "Besides, they must catch me first. On your feet, Ilya. I have to take you from this wretched place now."

"Wha-?" Sheik started, but the older man pulled him to his feet and was racing him down the stone stairs before he could say anything further.

"There are many reasons why you are being so severely punished," Leith explained as they hurried from the west tower, "but even I knew not the real reason. Hold your questions—I must tell you the truth before either of us is discovered or killed.

"On the way to your cell I was forced to take a secret passage I had learned from looking at old structural diagrams I unearthed in the hall of records. I never thought that anyone aside from myself knew of its whereabouts, but apparently I was wrong. There is a hidden room that runs along this passageway, and it was there that I happened upon Counselor Mortimus and Sage Rauru in the middle of an argument concerning you."

"Me?" Sheik echoed, trying not to trip over his own feet as Leith jogged him down the main corridor of the west wing.

"Yes, you. I must have a gift for being in the right place at the right time. As shocking as this may be to you, Ilya, I need you to remain strong if we ever hope to see Link alive again and a Hyrule free of corruption."

"I will try," Sheik vowed.

"That is all I need." Leith drew in a breath. "You never knew this, Ilya, but your mother was a royal guardian the same as you. The unwed King Zurden had fallen in love with her, and continued to have an affair with her years after his marriage to the Queen, to whom he had been betrothed in order to unite Hyrule with a neighboring kingdom. It was a political marriage, which is why Zyrden continued seeing your mother in secret.

"It all seemed fairly harmless until it became apparent that your mother was pregnant, and Sage Rauru dismissed her from her duties and sent her back to Kakariko. He told Zurden that it was best if the King never saw your mother again, and he was heartbroken. What Rauru failed to tell him was that he had planned to have your mother killed, but the attempts failed for unknown reasons.

"Several months later a child was born who did not look like the other Sheikah, a bouncing baby boy with golden hair like his Hylian father and scarlet eyes like his Sheikah mother. That child was you, Ilya."

Sheik's feet suddenly forgot how to walk and he nearly fell flat upon his face. Leith picked him up and forced him to keep moving through the halls of the castle. "Don't give out yet! You promised that you would be strong, and I expect you to keep your word."

"I . . . Yes, I'll. S-so I'm . . . I'm-"

"The son of King Zurden, yes. And a few years later the Queen gave birth to Zelda. You are siblings, though only by half-blood. The Queen died a year later from fever, and Zelda was named as the heir to the throne of Hyrule. However, no one knew of your whereabouts, save for Zurden and Rauru. Defying the Sage's advice and desperate to see his son, the King allowed your mother to visit the palace as a sort of diplomat of the Sheikah people. Your father loved you, Ilya, and it filled him with sadness that you could not be by his side every day.

"When Rauru discovered that your mother was still living, he was outraged. When you were barely six years of age, he had her secretly executed, and made to look like a natural death. He had plans to exterminate you as well, but King Zurden announced that you were to be a future guardian of the Royal Family, and you were sent to live in the palace. Though your father mourned the loss of your mother, he was at least consoled by the fact that he could keep you by his side where, little did he know, Rauru dared not touch you."

"You mean to tell me my mother was killed by-"

"Yes. But I am not yet finished; Rauru then employed Mortimus as Royal Counselor, and together they devised some kind of horrible plan to seize the throne of Hyrule, for whatever reasons they did not say, and I haven't a clue. But regardless, Mortimus is a man of dark magic, and he used his powers to slowly poison the King until he died, leaving behind his young daughter as the new monarch of Hyrule. They have since been manipulating her at their leisure, using her to gain power over the throne.

"When Hyrule was threatened by Ganondorf, Rauru selected you to aid your half-sister by trading bodies with her. If Zelda were killed in your body, your mind would be forever trapped in hers in a state of perpetual sleep, and by default the Sages would have power over Hyrule, and the leader of the Sages is Rauru."

"Dear gods."

"But Zelda made good use of your body, and Link succeeded in destroying Ganondorf, and so Rauru's plans to seize the throne fell through. Ilya, you are in grave danger now, for as the eldest child of the son of the King, you are the rightful heir to the throne, and Rauru knows that you will and cannot be so easily manipulated by his powers as Zelda. That is why he is so bent on your destruction, not because you discovered the truth about your people, but because you are to be the next ruler of Hyrule!"

Leith shook his head sadly. "There are dark days ahead, mark my words. What has the world come to when former friends stab each other in the back and men of light associate with men of corruption? Ilya, I know in my heart that you have the power to rise up against this madness and defeat it, to reclaim your rightful place in the monarchy and purge it of all its impurities! Rauru knows this, and he will stop at nothing to destroy you. Hyrule is not safe for you now, so I will help you escape to safer grounds. However, the time will come soon when you must return, and become who you were born to be."

"Who I was born to be?" Sheik echoed.

"Yes, Ilya: Prince of Hyrule and true heir to the throne!"