Ah, I finally figured out what this story's been missing. I never included Dark Link. Oh well, he won't be making an appearance in this story, but eventually I'm going to build some stuff up to Wind Waker, we'll see if he can get a bit of role in then, sound good? Absolutely NO ROOM in here for Dark Link or Ganondorf xD

I WANT A WII. I WANT BRAWL. I CAN'T HAVE A WII OR BRAWL. I'M GOING TO GO CRY NOW.

Enjoy the chapter.

Matters of the State

Chapter 25

My curiosity has been sparked.

"Well then, how much of all this is being related back from what's overheard?"

"Actually, Mistress, most of the maids and such keep saying their Ladies are ecstatic about the wedding, most of the upper folk seem pleased with it." I sigh as I walk down the lower halls with Master Tamrin, the Gardener who blessedly gave me leave from the salon many floors up with the Ladies Fawna and Edith. He's right actually; I haven't been down to the servants wing in a number of weeks now, perhaps that explains the lack of civil conversation...

"You cannot please everyone, but if the nobility are content then where are all these 'feelings' you mentioned coming from?"

"Those of us down here, Mistress." I cannot believe this...

"Master Tamrin," I say, pausing and giving a sigh as I shake my head, "I am a friend of those who make the castle run, or at least I have always tried to be, but this is not truly a matter which can be decided by rumors. This is the lives of two very young, very powerful people."

"A matter of the state then, Mistress?" He asks quietly, and I feel myself frown as, I think I'm beginning to feel a bit... hesitant... about all of this.

"Yes, Master Tamrin, a matter of the state..."

I can hear the sounds of the cannons firing in the harbor now, like distant thunder rumbling in the wake of a massive storm. The streets which were once empty are now filling with frantic, unarmed people, those who came down from the bluff after the destruction of the tower and now find themselves under attack from the sea.

For all that I chose to stave off wearing any red from the ship, most of those who come rushing down the lanes we take stumble in their paths and dart away at the sight of me. I suppose I can't blame them though, armed as I am with warm blood running down the side of my face and back.

As a small condolence, some streets back Nayru finally pulled me aside as we were walking, and briskly removed the arrow from my back with little warning and only a few terse words. She tore a strip from my tunic and did her best to form a make-shift bandage for the wound afterwards, but I can still swear she seems mad at me for some reason. Me.

That thought's enough to aggravate more than I already am by what's going on around me now, the chaos in the city streets as already I can see signs of looting being carried out. Somehow, I knew this sort of madness would break out once the order was so boldly challenged by the ships, but expecting something and wallowing in it are two entirely different things.

Fires are being struck around the city, likely from the looters and the frightened. There's likely also chaos brewing from the east and Lynna woods. The resistors there were told we were coming through Zora messengers, and I don't doubt that they're just as rowdy as everyone else right now.

"Does your head hurt?" My memory of Lynna city is vague, and thirty years have altered what routes I knew. I've been letting Nayru lead us for some time now, only she knows where the Harp of Ages lies, although it's a mystery to me why she doesn't just summon it into her arms. In the glowing red light around us and with the moon still climbing overhead, I can feel her eyes fixated on me menacingly, and I feel myself bristle at the idea.

"No, I'm fine." I answer shortly, swiping the back of one hand across my forehead to wipe away the slowed flow from my brow. In truth, my head is pounding menacingly, but with her looking to me that way, and the pain of her hands prying the arrow head still fresh in my mind, I'd rather not seek out her aide again so soon.

It feels as though we travel the streets for hours, although the moon is only just slightly higher when we reach our destination than it was when I last looked to its pale face. This building is certainly not one I recognize, an entire manor built in the heart of the city only a few minutes ride towards the Maku Tree's Sanctuary. For a moment, I remember that I've heard nothing at all about Labrynna's guardian since I arrived, but now isn't truly the time to be pondering the doings of the mighty tree.

"The gates, they're open…" A trap? A high brick wall is what we face now, broken only by an iron wrought gate only just to small to require a guard house. As we approach, there are no people along this road, although in the distance I can hear voices, few screams even. I haven't the time to play the hero tonight however, and constantly remind myself of that as we come towards the opening and find that the mighty bars are indeed parted.

"Did he run?" She asks; her voice as rough as it has been since she first began speaking back in the harbor. I can feel her eyes watching me closely as I ease the Master Sword back out of its sheath, noting the lit torches within the walls, the household items strewn about the ground. Bits of rope, buckets, a chest lies on its side spilling it's contents near one of the outer buildings, in this light it's difficult to see much else.

"The servants might have, but he wouldn't." I answer carefully, my eyes peering through the bars I'm hesitant to touch, the shadows to dark for my liking, I can't see if anything is be hidden within them. No, of what little I know of the smirking lord from Hyrule Castle, he wouldn't surrender his stronghold, not ever. At this point though, all I can really do is pray he holds true to that nature, with the world what it is in this age, I can't say where he might go if he did indeed run…

Reaching out with my right hand, I push one of the doors open smoothly, wincing as it rattles and squeals in protest; a display likely unheard during the full activity of the day. The sword ready in my grasp, I keep my eyes moving about as I step into the courtyard, signaling for Nayru to wait a moment before following.

My caution is well-rewarded, a sharp hissing sound cutting through the air to my right, and making me keenly aware of my lack of defense as I have no shield with which to deflect anything I can't see. Pivoting on my left foot to face the direction of the sound, my eye dart to the ground as a series of soft taps reaches my ears. In the wretched light of the moon and the flickering red torches, I can only barely make out the long, slim lengths of several needles buried into the dirt of the manor's courtyard.

"That blade…" The voice drifts out of the shadows under the stables across the courtyard, and I can hear the soft, even sound of footsteps drawing near from that position. My right arm may hurt, but since I'm no longer restricted by my shield I bring both hands onto the Master Sword's hilt. The blade is fashioned so that it may be wielded with either one hand or two, although I've always known the latter method to be far more dangerous in practice.

"That is the Holy Blade." I can see him now, the man speaking to me. The first detail which jumps out at me rests at his throat, a chain around it holding up a glittering golden eye. Strange, nothing else about him is remarkable, a man in his mid-thirties I'd assume, pale hair beginning to thin at the top. I can see nothing of his body though under the fine but modest cut of his tunic and trousers, but I know him to be a servant, and as he takes a few more calculated steps forwards, I almost immediately recognize him as something more than just a man to fetch and carry.

I can practically feel the air charging around him, his fingers curling in as I don't need to think hard to convince myself that there are more needles waiting in his grasp. That eye taunts me however, so familiar, but not the same... In a time that never came to pass, that image haunted me then as well, always blazoned across the front of someone I was never completely sure I could trust until the end. But even then, it was different... it was sad, not like this one.

"The Blade stolen by the Hero who fled the Sacred Realm and never did then return. And now it finds itself in the hands of an infidel..."

"The Sacred Realm is the world beyond the Door of Time." I correct shrewdly, holding my sword up in a threatening stance, "And I ran from nothing. Now move, we have no qualms with you." Somehow, I knew what sort of answer to expect, but I feel my jaw tighten reflexively as I watch him anyways.

"True Sheikah do not allow threats near their Masters." I swear lividly as he wasn't holding needles to throw at me, a small grey orb falling from his fingers and enveloping him in white smoke. Rushing forwards, I know that the tactic holds more than a bit of magic to allow for a perfect escape if used properly, and expect nothing as I swipe the Master Sword through the cloud and cut through nothing. Turning sharply, I bring the blade up in a block with my hands over my head and the sword's edge hanging diagonally across me, hearing the sharp strikes of metal needles ricocheting off the sword and pegging themselves into my armor, blessedly not carrying enough force to go through leather and mail. But needles and smoke aren't all Sheikah bring to a fight.

Years ago, before the rebellions which shattered the old Monarchy, the Sheikah clan protected the King's family and those of the upper nobility. But when the rebellion broke out, and more importantly, the Princess broke away from her own family, it caused a division between the Shiekah. Those who followed the Princess, such as Impa in my own time, and those of her Kakariko village, became the Tearful Sheikah, adopting a large teardrop under the All-Seeing-Eye, as a symbol of they're betrayal of the old king, and how they carry those sins but go forwards proudly with their choice.

Those who didn't follow the Princess, those who held completely to their vows, well, most rumors say that they were hunted down and destroyed. Entire families died in a dark war that went unheard of for the most part for years after the King I know was crowned. It would be foolhardy to believe that every one of the loyalists died of course, many of them fled into exile, those who didn't learned to keep silent of their heritage or beliefs... It seems one such sect of the Tearless Sheikah found friends in this household...

I didn't see a sheath of any sword about his person, but as I turn once more trying to find him, a flash of steel in the torchlight is all the warning before I abruptly find myself winded, stumbling back with hot pain running along my side. I keep from falling back although it's a near thing, swinging the Master Sword up in a rough counter as the slim, guard-less Sheikah blade comes at me again. It flashes like a beast's tooth in the light, white and menacing, and with more power and speed behind it than a man like him should be able to provide.

"Dare you wield the blade of the fallen Hero, you who draws arms against the kin of the rightful king!" His speed surprises me, but I quickly regain myself, holding the sword with both hands and snapping it up into a proper stance, countering as the aging man lunges at me with a fierce look in his eyes. Somehow, at his words, I feel anger of my own begin to awaken within me.

Ever since I arrived here, all I've heard has been people spitting on my name, when in reality that's all I've ever had. I've had no family since I was to small to remember them, no home that has truly felt right to me. My given name itself is without origin and my loyalties too easily come into conflict with my duty. The titles I've earned have come by me through blood and sweaty tears, they're all I've ever had, and by the gods if I'm named my own son or some damned look-alike once more I'll make the speaker pay!

Since his blade has no guard, I cannot catch him in a power-struggle, and since it's shorter than my sword- only just longer than his lower arm from elbow to wrist- it's risky for me to take the chance of sliding my sword down his to strike his hand without having him lash out and slash me full across the face.

"You're wrong," I say darkly, kicking back unexpectedly for distance as he swipes his blade out at me again with practiced skill. It's awkward, but I switch my sword over to my right hand, ignoring the twinge of pain the added strain brings me, and attack. Darting forwards with my sword held low but the point going forwards, my left hand lashes out and snatches the other man's wrist as he brings his blade around to strike me. I have only a brief chance to see the confusion cross his face at the strength of my grip, before he lurches and the Master sword drives straight through his spine. Sharp pains hit me just to the right of my heart, and I grit my teeth against it as I force the sword deeper until it's winged hilt is pressed up against his tunic.

"There is no King." They all have such closed minds, every instructor or soldier I've ever met, to them the left arm is useless and weak, it's grip simple to break and of no consequence. I can feel the warmth of his blood run slick along my hand, staining my sleeve crimson as his blade drops to the ground. Bringing one booted foot up, I place it against his stomach and kick him away from me, the sword sliding from his ruined insides with a thick squelch as he falls with his last rattling breath. The pain in my chest makes it difficult to breathe, and faintly I reach up to where I can feel a trickle of blood beginning to seep through the front of my own tunic, effectively adding to the crimson covering me.

Three needles are the cause of the added pain through my chest when I try to bleed, thin and perfectly balanced to fly through the air when thrown. Their points are made finely enough that they either passed through the links of my mail, or the man now dead at my feet put enough strength into the blow to force them past the metal. Eitherway, unlike the large wounds left by the barbed heads of arrows, the needles don't pose the same sort of threat. As well, they didn't go in very deeply, causing me pain and a bit of bleeding, but as I take a quick breath and draw them out one after the other, the wounds really aren't that bad. A few inches over however...

"I thought you would tell him you really are the Hero..." I turn and see Nayru standing only a few paced behind me, her eyes black in the harsh light of the torches, her hair matted as she stands in the ragged remains of once were once light summery skirts. It's strange, how much she seems like Zelda as she looks at me that way, not the Zelda I've known within the palace of course, the one who's face appeared behind from behind those Sheikah scarves years ago. The only difference between the two, is that emotion that bridges on hate, the revulsion shining clearly through her eyes as she looks over my bloodied form. I bristle at the stare, growing tired of her disapproval as there's little else I can do when men come at me demanding blood.

"The title's mine." I respond simply, "But I didn't choose it consciously." looking down at the Master sword, it's silvery blade stained with shimmering crimson, thick globs sliding from it's edges as I angle it down, blood washed across the hilt and blue wings, the Triforce glittering ethereally in the torchlight. The thick strains of flesh torn from within the dead man's body mar the blade, and I look back to the Oracle with it still in hand, reaching over the dead Sheikah's body and wiping the holy sword off on his pant leg. I can hear the Oracle walking and rise once I've gotten enough of it off, turning to look at her-

-before she slaps me full across the face.

"Show respect for the dead." She seethes, and I grit my teeth in response as not in any of my memories can I recall her acting so... so demandingly! By the gods, should she not be the slightest bit grateful that I'm even here? I feel a strong twinge in my side where the blade tore through the leather and cloth, likely leaving a large bruise on under my mail. If she notices how I tense to feel the injury, she doesn't show it, simply turning on her heel and striding towards the house itself, the massive stone building with only one visible light shining from a higher window. I keep from grinding my teeth as I don't sheath the sword again, following her grudgingly and waiting a moment before speaking.

"The Sheikah was still here, his Master will be too." Silence greets my comment as we reach the wide double-doors which lead into the manor proper. Only once she rests her hands on the strong oak does she pause and glance at me again over her shoulder.

"That symbol... so that's what it was." She replies softly, and I nod.

"Where will the harp be?" I watch her closely as her eyes go back to the door in front of her, hands still resting on it's solid surface as she's perfectly still. I'm all but ready to repeat the question before she responds.

"Up the stairs, around the corner, in his study." Unless he moved it, of course, but I needn't say that aloud, she's surely thinking much the same thing. But after a moment she only shakes her head, turning her shadowed blue eyes to me with a hard look in them.

"He's to proud for such simple tricks, be careful." The first kind words she's uttered to me since we dragged her from the ocean. I'm almost startled to hear them, but am spared the need to reply as the sound of distant thunder ripples through the air. It's different from the cannon fire from before, deeper, longer, and louder by far, echoing through the city streets as I look towards the harbor, feeling a sick sense of dread as even without clouds high above, I can make out a faint red light far in the distance.

"What was that?" Nayru whispers hoarsely, and I find it hard to swallow for a moment before I turn back to her. I can still feel a numb pain under my throat, centered in my chest where the needles struck but shake off the thought of poison, anything used by Sheikah would have killed me by now.

"One of the ships was hit." I answer, trying to think that it would've been one of the ships already in the harbor, but to cause such an explosion... only vessels sailing to war could have that much powder aboard, and the only ones ready for that were ours... "Come on, let's hurry and get out of here." The numbers are on the side of Jasper and the island men, but it's impossible to ever truly be sure of an outcome.

As the doors part, I can see that the frantic, abandoned look of the courtyard doesn't extend to the inside of the building, which is suspicious to say the least. Nayru brushes past me without another word, quickly crossing the floors of polished blue stone, the tiles clearly just to show wealth as the Labrynnian colour is nowhere else to be found as I step inside. The dark reds and stark lines remind me of the most formal wings of Hyrule castle, of the rooms where you're afraid to sit on the furniture or sneeze into your own sleeve for fear of a maid or noblewoman coming at you for blood.

Following the Oracle, I'm reminded of her waning strength as she climbs the stairs before us quickly at first, but only a short ways up, she slows. If I didn't have more aches and pains than I can count, I'd perhaps be worried over her pushing herself as she has been since the harbor. But frankly, as I climb up after her, I'm more focused on keeping myself going than helping her up the stairs.

On the second floor now, the dark wood floors absorb what little light a the few burning candles shed, the crimson of the walls reminding me only of the colour of freshly spilt blood. After the horrors this day and many before it have brought, the sight of the shade is not well received. Nayru just ghosts along through the golden light, the flames picking out all the garish imperfections of her form…

I can see the pale lines along her arms where she was cut when dragged from the water, how her blue hair is matted, snarled and shorn in places where clumps were likely removed through rough handling. The summer skirts about her hips are in tatters about her ankles where they end, and always with that dark, hollow look in her eyes. I certainly didn't expect her to look lovely when I arrived here, but the degree to which she's fallen by looking into her eyes is startling. Not even the Princess beyond those desert scarves, battered by several years of war and rebellion, looked as terrible as this Oracle does now before me.

I'm so lost in my thoughts as we pass through lit and unlit corridors, that I nearly run right into the rumpled woman as she abruptly stops before a pair of darkly stained doors. We've encountered not a soul since the man in the courtyard, and as her hand abruptly moves out towards the knob, I quickly reach out and snatch her wrist firmly. She tenses at the contact, and I can feel my fingers brushing against the sores along her skin where metal shackles have likely rubbed her raw, but I don't let go as she looks to me darkly. I just shake my head to her, and –letting go- motion with my numb right hand for her to move back.

I don't do anything flashy or obscene; no heroic antics at the doorway which can easily backfire on me and result in some manner of humiliation or pain. I simply put myself between her and the doorway, pleased to see her relent and move off to the side. I have the Master sword, still streaked with blood from earlier, and held in my left hand at the ready.

Ever since that first arrow weeks ago aboard the Fair Lady, my right arm has seen to end to its punishment. Perhaps one of the few fortunate details of fighting with my left hand is that so many tactics revolve around rendering your opponent's right hand unusable. Well, I can assure any master swordsman that at the moment my right arm is not only painfully numb, but as I glance quickly at my icy cold finger tips, they're white which makes me momentarily worry about the amount of blood getting down to my hand. I may not use that one much, but it's still fairly useful for what it can do.

Placing my right hand on the doorknob, I twist it quickly without moving, making sure the latch is clear with as little noise as possible. Gods permitting, as I nudge it open and let go, allowing the door to begin swinging open on its own, the room beyond will be completely-

SHWOOK

"..!?" –Pain…

"Link!!"

Yay, Happy Birthday to me! Seventeen on Friday the 13th. (No wii, but that's perfectly understandable I have a Game Cube AND a PS2)

(Oh GOD but that I want a Wii!! -cries-)

This update was like a birthday present to myself, I was so relieved when this started rolling off onto the pages, and I finally get to answer a few earlier questions. Just to clarify, the significance between the Tearless and Tearful symbols for the Sheikah were outlined in the Ocarina of Time Manga, Part 2 in the Gerudo Desert with Sheik. I don't think you get the same pep-talk in the actual game, but I really liked the idea of the Sheikah having been involved in the rebellions, and that anecdote really fleshed out a lot of my back-story. Because of it I brought in the Rebellion, Zelda's father not being born to royalty, and that interesting other side to Malvo.