Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda, its characters and locations are all property of Nintendo. Any and all OCs and original locations belong to me unless specifically stated to belong to someone else.


Soul Remnants
Chapter 53


Sweat ran down Rial's forehead as he attempted to pull his sword out of the unfortunate dead soldier's body. The blade had caught on something, and the general eventually had to put his foot on the dead man's chest and tug with all his might. The sword came loose with a disgusting wet sound and the momentum nearly took him off his feet, but he regained balance just in time. The snowy ground was covered in blotches of red, the essence of the man Rial had just killed.

Lord Reimos came up behind him as he cleaned his blade, sliding it back it into its scabbard. He greeted the man with a nod. There was no need for formality on a battlefield.

"This is ridiculous," Reimos said, resting his mace on his shoulder. It was covered in blood, though the lord made no attempt at cleaning it. "What is this, the fourth such group we encounter in as many days?"

"Yes," Rial confirmed, looking around them. The battle was dying down, the last of the attacking Royalists were dead, dying, captured or fleeing. Those who attempted to escape were quickly brought down from behind by Riveth's skilled archers. It was a dirty way to do it, but they couldn't risk their position being more compromised than it already was. "This one was larger, though, and better equipped."

"Must mean we're getting close to the main battalion or whatever it is that keeps supplying the fodder." Reimos shook his head. His armour rattled slightly. "This is ridiculous," he repeated.

Rial looked at Reimos, wondering how the lord, who looked so small and weak in his robes and finery, could look so fearsome. The plate armour added a lot of bulk, and with its many spikes and spurs it was almost like going up against a giant porcupine...or a hedgehog, depending on whether or not you feared the man inside. The black paint only added to the dread enemies would feel when looking upon the most warlike man in the entire army.

"What is ridiculous, lord?" Rial asked.

"The fact that these idiots keep attacking us with numerically inferior forces and terrible tactics. That we are fighting this war to begin with. That we are forced to be on the move like this. That you are the leader. That—"

"Excuse me?" Rial asked, raising his eyebrows at the older man. "You object to my leadership of this rebellion?"

"You're damn right I do," Reimos said, fixing him with a fearsome glare that made Rial's breath hitch in his throat just a little. Blood dripped off his mace, splashing in the snow below. "For four days now you have led us into these ambushes. A better leader would have recognised it as being a trap long ago and taken a different route, but you didn't. You know why? Because you're a not a leader, son. Being a leader's a tough job, and something you grow into. Years of experience are what decides a man's success—and you, boy, haven't got it."

"I have led men before," Rial said, feeling his anger building up. How dare the man question his leadership?

"You mean those pretty-boys in the Royal Guard? Hah, I'd rather have children at my back than you. At least the kids can turn on their charm and make the enemy flinch!" Reimos guffawed at this terrible joke. "You've not led men, general. You've led boys in shiny armour whose idea of a job well done is one King dead and another captured by a genocidal bastard with a terrible comb-over!"

It was so tempting, for Rial, to slug the man for his affront. But to do would make him no better than common criminals who duked it out in the streets. He turned his own glare on Reimos and gave him a chilling smile.

"I am sorry that you feel that way, Reimos," he said, deliberately not using his title. "Do you know of someone you'd rather have in command?"

"Why, myself, of course," Reimos said, grinning nastily. "I'm the only one whose seniority has any meaning. I have the most men, I have the most supplies, I have—"

"Have you ever been in the military, Reimos?" Rial asked, enjoying the act of not using his title, especially because Reimos' face grew just a little redder every time he didn't. "Have you ever fought under the King's banner?"

Narrowing his eyes with suspicion, Reimos slowly shook his head. "I have not, but—"

"Then your opinion on the matter is irrelevant," Rial said, turning away with a snort of derision. "As far as I'm concerned, we are the true, loyal faction of the Royal Army, and as such we are a military unit. I have finished basic training and have held a commanding position for many years, for the Royal Guards are indeed considered a part of the military. Therefore, as the only general here, despite my young age, I am the most senior officer available. My merits are my affiliation, my rank, and the fact that said rank was bestowed upon me by General Drena Riveth, who up until recently was the highest-ranking commander in the Loyalist army."

"I fail to see why—"

"And as long as you and your men are a part of this army, you fight under my banner, which is again under the King's. You are under my command, and I can have you arrested for insubordination. That will require a court martial, but since we are currently at war, we must dispense with such unpleasantness and jump straight to sentencing—which is my domain. And believe me, Reimos, I have no qualms about having you thrown in the brig if you ever dare to question my position again."

The look on Reimos' face was worth every blustering declaration and threat, Rial decided. The man looked quite impotent with rage.

"Then I shall simply have to take my men back home," Reimos said. "Perhaps Rehm will—"

"You will do no such thing," Rial interrupted. "That will be considered an act of desertion and treated as such—and you know what the sentence is for such an act during wartime, do you not?"

"Is that a threat?" Reimos said dangerously.

"A warning," Rial said simply. "You are an asset, Reimos, truly, but if you intend to act as a rogue element, I must put an end to it immediately."

"Very well, if that is how it will be..." Reimos said, tugging off his armour's right gauntlet, revealing a fine leather glove beneath. In one swift movement, Reimos removed that as well and struck Rial over the face with it. It made a snapping sound that echoed across the small plain they had fought on. By now, every face on the small battlefield was looking at the argument. "I, Lord Reimos, challenge you, Rial Vortan to a duel!" he declared loud enough for everyone to hear.

Flabbergasted by such a childish action, Rial simply stared at the man. "The stakes?" he finally asked, realising that there was no way to get out of the challenge lest he look like a coward, not to mention the fact that such challenges were completely legal and didn't break military procedure. It was a ridiculous practice, and Rial made a note to ask if Victor would be willing to outlaw it when he was back on the throne.

"Leadership of the Loyalists," Reimos declared. "I will see to it that this army is put to better use!"

"And what is that, if I may ask?" Rial said.

"A march on the capital, which we should have embarked upon immediately!" Reimos gave him a nod. "Our talk is done, general. My second will contact you with the time and place."

"As the one being challenged, I have certain rights, do I not?" Rial asked. "Such as having the pick of weapons?"

The lord paused, looking back at him expectantly.

"Swords," Rial said. "No shields or armour."

The lord hesitate, but eventually nodded. "Agreed," he said and continued on his way, hefting his mace.

Rial watched him go, the pressure in his chest almost unbearable. Of all the things that could happen, this was the thing he needed the least. Giving the corpse of the man he had just killed a kick fuelled by his anger, he stalked off, ordering everyone to clean up and get rid of the bodies. He regretted the act a few minutes later.

A few hours later, he was sitting in the command tent, poring over reports from his scouts and spies, the challenge all but forgotten due to the depressing news he found in them. The Royal Army was mobilising to the south, conscripting every man that was willing to fight for "The King" and putting hastily produced weapons in their hands and sending them to the frontline. The capital was locked down and currently being fortified against any invading armies that might come skulking towards it. They were no closer to even start marching on the city, much less any of the forts that lay in their way. And he had no idea what to do from here. Sure, they had Jedistern's plan, but that relied on certain factors that were far from certain at the moment.

Perhaps Reimos was right, perhaps he wasn't truly fit for command at this level. His aunt would have turned this situation in their favour in record time in her heyday—but it was obvious that Rial hadn't been gifted with the same military prowess.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought him out of his reverie, and he turned to see Sid standing in the tent opening. He wordlessly invited the man in and had him sit down in a chair, to which he nodded gratefully, rubbing his knee with a tired sigh.

"I'll never get used ta bein' a cripple," Sid muttered. "Ain't right, a man of my age reduced ta this..."

"Better than being dead though, right?" Rial said, grinning a little.

"Some mornings I wish I were, cap'n," Sid admitted, suddenly looking tired. The skin beneath his eyes was dark, and his beard was dishevelled. "But," he said loudly, as if to dispel the moment of openness, "I'll gladly wait t' keel over till I see tha' bastard Rehm's head on a pike with me own eyes! And we expect th' same from you, cap'n."

"You heard about the duel, huh?" Rial asked, shaking his head.

"Yep," the ex-guard said, rolling his eyes. "And th' whole camp as well." The general groaned, and Sid chuckled. "Was waitin' for one of yet to blow up at each other, cap'n. Glad to say it was Reimos."

"Yeah, well, the last thing we need right now is a schism in the camp," Rial said with a sigh. "Shouldn't have agreed to it."

"If ye'd refused, he'd have cleaved yer head in half on th' spot," Sid said. "Tha's th' way with th' nobles."

"I suppose so," Rial agreed, remembering the look on Reimos' face as they spoke. He was clearly a man prepared to kill someone on principle. "I suppose you aren't here to exchange pleasantries, though. You bring a report?"

Sid nodded. "Aye. My wee spies tell me tha' we've got a nasty little crow in our camp, cawin' our every move and decision to every Royal Army camp in th' vicinity." He adjusted his seat, hissing in badly hidden pain as his knee made a nasty cracking sound that even made Rial wince. "We don't know who he is yet, but we're workin' on it and hope to catch 'em in the act soon."

"I see," Rial said, settling back in his chair. "That would explain all the small ambushes along the road we've been caught in lately. There are hundreds of smaller camps positioned around the country, waiting for us. If the commanding officer sees a chance for glory when he receives messages about our position..."

"...he'll gladly take th' risk and attack immediately," Sid finished.

"But why are said officers so high in rank? Just in the past two days I've killed more colonels than I've ever imagined I'd see, much less lay a hand on."

"Rehm's tryin' to placate those who find his actions strange by promotin' them left and right. I think he's got over a hundred different generals in the army at this point, all of 'em squabblin' about who's got the most power. Ridiculous."

"So, Rehm's in danger of losing control of the army?"

"I'd say so. His decision t' attack th' Silver Guard was not popular."

Rial rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. Things were definitely spiralling out of control on both sides. Rehm hadn't been prepared to fight a war like this and was forced to keep his eyes on multiple fronts at the same time.

"Let's hope he loses that battle, then," he said. "The Silver Guard are the very elite of our fighters—surely if there's anyone who can defeat Rehm, it's them."

"Aye, but they're currently trapped in tha' castle of theirs, under siege. And with Th' Chimera's movin' in on 'em..."

"Gods, I hate that fucking airship," Rial groaned.

"Good thing we're destroyin' it soon, then," Sid said.

"As soon as we receive confirmation on the Sheikah's success in Ironhill, we'll make our move," Rial said. "Hopefully, Tadian's plan will work."

"He's probably th' smartest man in th' camp, cap'n. It'll work."

"I'm not a captain anymore, you know," Rial said with a little grin. "I'm a general."

"Yep, but ye'll always be the cap'n to me, cap'n," Sid said with a little wink, standing up and resting all his weight on his cane. "Well, that was all I had t' report, cap'n. I'll keep workin' on catching our wee crow and report back when I've got 'im."

"Excellent, thank you," Rial said, shaking Sid's hand. "You've no idea how much of a comfort your presence here is, my friend."

"Aw, ye're gonna make me blush, cap'n," Sid said, grinning. "Let's keep tha' sentimental bullshit on the backburner until we've won, yeah?"

"Sure," Rial said, feeling a little foolish.

"Not tha' it ain't appreciated, though," the spy added on his way. "Oh, and by th' way, th' Hero's lookin' mighty antsy these days. Might wanna have a talk with 'im."

"I will," Rial assured him and watched him go. He was right. Link had been acting strangely ever since he'd lost the bet with Iteos, especially after the night of the first ambush. He didn't know the exact details of their wager, but it was quite easy to guess what they were, based on the knight's reputation, behaviour and general...being. That was why Rial had warned the Hero the way he had. Whatever he did, if his lover found out...well, how did the saying go, again? Hell hath no fury and so on, only with genders reversed. The only question was who would take the brunt of it—the cheater or the one who'd forced him? Did that even constitute cheating? It wasn't like Rial was an expert on the subject...

Before he spoke to the Hero and sorted out the clusterfuck that must have come into being thanks to Iteos, he decided to speak to his aunt. She must have heard about the duel by now and he'd rather get the lecture over and done with sooner rather than later.

And a lecture was indeed what he got when he entered the sick tent, but not from whom he expected.

"Of all the irresponsible...just how do you expect this war to be waged in any decent manner if the leaders are killing each other because of petty issues?" Agneta demanded to know as she stalked back and forth in front of Riveth's bed. The patient herself was staring at him, not speaking. "Do you have any idea how much worry you're putting my patient through? It can make her condition worse!"

"In my defence, he challenged me," Rial said, scratching the back of his neck, feeling like a little boy who was being scolded.

"And you accepted it!" Agneta exclaimed. "I thought the world was moving ahead and setting aside those idiotic shows of manliness, testosterone and testing of who's supposedly got the biggest balls, but no, let's have another one of those at a time where it's the last thing we need, why don't you—"

"Agneta, that's enough," Riveth said, waving her hand dismissively. The physician look offended, but nodded and went to see her other patients, apparently too angry to even excuse herself properly. Riveth waved Rial over and had him sit in a chair next to her bed, and fixed him with a stare. "Everything she said, I agree with," she said slowly. She wasn't breathing as heavily as she had before, which Rial hoped was a good sign. Perhaps there was still hope for her to pull through.

"I know," he said, hanging his head slightly. "I don't know what came over me. He questioned my command, insulted my men...the ones who died in the massacre at the castle...I lost my temper. It was stupid, and I do not intend to let it happen again."

"That's all well and good, nephew, but it does not help you with the duel you've already agreed to," Riveth said, rolling her eyes. It was good to hear her speak proper sentences again, even if there was a slightly raspy quality to her voice.

"I know," he admitted.

"You've gambled the command of the army, risky," she continued. "But the terms are good. Swords, no armour. You've the advantage there. The man's old, slowing down. Too slow to protect himself with just a blade. Wise decision."

"Thank you. I figure I will just cut him a bit here and there, leave him with his pride wounded so we can get back to it."

Riveth paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "Nephew, you have to kill him." If it wasn't for the serious tone, he would've thought she was joking.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"You heard me," she said. "He challenged you to a duel to the death. He won't allow you to leave that ring alive."

"He won't be able to," Rial tried. "He'll be too exhausted to—"

"Then his second will kill you," Riveth interrupted him. "And the rest of his men will endeavour to do the same. This is a matter of honour, nephew. If you want to have yours intact, then Reimos must die."

"Sod honour, I don't need it," he said dismissively.

Riveth gave a barking laugh, which was not a good thing to do as she began to cough, groaning in pain as the bout subsided. "That wasn't smart," she muttered under her breath. "Honour is everything," she continued. "Without it, we are no better than cutthroats and traitors. You were challenged to a duel to the death, and you will be expected, as a gentleman, to uphold the agreement you entered when you accepted the challenge."

"But you—well, Agneta—just said that duels are archaic and stupid, and—"

"And they are, which is why you shouldn't have accepted it, but what's done is done and there's no helping it." She tried to sit up, succeeding with a little help from him. She didn't acknowledge it. "Your ability to command has been questioned. That is an offense which requires swift and brutal retribution. If we were at peace, there would have been a military tribunal to settle this, but there is no time for it. If you allow Reimos to live, it will be the same as saying that dissent, disobedience and insubordination is acceptable in this army, and soon enough you'll be up to your neck in little shits who will think nothing of disrespecting you or the chain of command. There'll be no discipline and ranks will falter and break in the next battle you fight."

His eyes were wide as he stared at her. He really hadn't considered that such consequences could come from something as simple as this. "I...I didn't think...surely this is a worst-case scenario?"

She nodded. "Aye, and that is what you need to be prepared for—and should do your utmost to prevent."

"And the easiest way to do that is to kill Reimos?" he asked.

"Yes," she said simply. "The old coot will have his moment in the sun, and then he will fade into obscurity, forever marked as an honourable, yet misguided man. You will also be remembered as honourable—not to mention as the successful leader of this rebellion. Which is far more than can be said if Reimos were to win leadership of the army. The fool will march it straight south to be annihilated at the gates of the capital."

He shook his head, looking at his boots. "I wish there were another way," he said quietly.

"As do I," she said, taking his in hers and squeezing firmly, as if to prove that her strength wasn't completely gone. "But there is none. I know you will do me proud, nephew."

He left the tent, thoughts swirling in his head as he tried to locate the Hero. He hoped to the gods that this was the last talk he would have to have that day.


"I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him..."

Sheik wanted to groan as he listened to Kafei repeat this mantra again and again, wishing his cousin would shut up. Telling him to hadn't helped, and he'd given up after the twentieth time, knowing that the purple-haired Sheikah was probably going to say it again and again until he actually fulfilled his promise. He just wished he'd do it quietly.

It wasn't like Sheik wasn't angry at Jeryd either—the deception he'd pulled on them was the lowest he'd ever encountered—but the energy Kafei was expending on cursing Jeryd could be put to far better use. Like finding a way to escape from this dungeon, for example.

It wasn't really a dungeon. Those tended to be dark, cold and dank, with moss and fungus growing everywhere and water dripping loudly. But this...this was, all things considered, quite pleasant. It was dark, sure (not that it mattered very much considering Sheik's excellent night vision), but it was neither cold nor dank. The room was quite large, with a wooden floor and solid, heated stone walls. They weren't below ground level, which probably explained the "niceness". Two stone pillars stood in the middle of the room, to which the two Sheikah were chained to by their wrists and ankles, each on different sides of the pillars so they were facing away from each other, each unable to see the other. The chains were just short enough to disallow any sort of movement that could be used to break free.

They had no idea where Elenwe was. She had been taken to a different room, apparently. Perhaps the guild liked to keep their prisoners separated by gender? Whatever the reason was, Sheik was sure that half of the reason for Kafei's anger was the lack of a certain Gerudo.

Based on the weapon racks, this was a training room. Upon further inspection, scores had been gouged into the pillars, probably from errant blades flying everywhere. It didn't explain the presence for the chains, but Sheik had some ideas which made him uncomfortable. At least there weren't any bloodstains around that could confirm his theory.

He tried moving his arms again. No, wouldn't budge. The chains around his ankles were a little longer to allow him to sit comfortably on the floor, but that was about it. They were solid, nowhere near breakable by the force he could generate on his own power. He couldn't reach the tools in his pockets either, but that was a moot point because said tools had been taken away by the assassins after a thorough body search.

What a lovely situation this is, Speil's voice said. There was a slight echo in it. It was probably because of the seal. You, chained up like a wild animal...and me, unable to give you the ravishing you so clearly need and deserve.

Sheik wanted to groan out loud, but that'd mean having to explain to Kafei that the shadow as able to speak to him despite the seal now, and that was just another world of trouble he wasn't all that keen on creating. Instead, he quietly shook his head. What do you want? he asked.

The previous sentence didn't explain it well enough? All right, I want to f—

Not that!

Hah, it's never that, Speil said, almost sounding disappointed. There's nothing else, actually. You're stuck, and I'm stuck. In a way, we're both in the same shit.

But in a different way, Sheik thought. Now please shut up so I can concentrate on escaping.

Impossible, Speil said with a chuckle. And before you ask, yes, I know that's your exact thoughts because, guess what, once again we are sharing a mind. I can read you like an open book, and my, oh my, what an uninteresting book it is. Your thoughts really do revolve around a select group of very boring things, and nothing else. You're very lucky you're cute, or else you'd never find someone interested in you.

I assume being trapped inside me without being able to interact with anyone has left you grouchy? Sheik guessed, noticing that Speil was being particularly cranky and generous with his insults now. Been stewing, have you?

When one is stuck on an imaginary beach with water that undulates with geometric shapes, surrounded by a perpetual fog that terminates in an invisible wall, behind which lies the real world in the shape of pure darkness...then yes, one of the few things one is able to do is stew, and I have become quite good at it. At the very least, a book would have been appreciated. But not yours. Yours is boring.

You've already covered that, Sheik said with an inward sigh. I thought the beach was just something my mind conjured up for when I was trapped within it. I thought it would disappear when I was released.

It should have, but it retained its shape after you left, which left me quite befuddled. On one hand, it was nice not to have to return to the state of nothingness to which I am usually condemned, but on the other hand, it is such a dull place...

And now?

I'm still here, Speil said in a voice that bordered on seductive. Only this time I can hear your thoughts and catch glimpses of the world through your eyes and ears. That human assassin really pulled one over you, didn't he?

I don't want to talk about it, Sheik thought.

Ah, but you do. You just don't want to do it with your cousin, because that would be admitting to having misjudged his character, wouldn't it? And if there is one thing Sheik of the Sheikah, my Pet, does not do, it's make bad judgements. Or, he does, he just refuses to acknowledge it.

I make plenty of bad calls and mistakes, Sheik protested. I'll happily own up to it, even!

Then apologise to Kafei and admit your failure... Three beats of silence. You cannot do it, can you? You so desperately want to prove him wrong in that it was a mistake to remain with the Sheikah that you're not even willing to admit that Jeryd was a traitor all along and have condemned you to a life of slavery. Tell me, will you tell this to My Light? Will he get to know just how badly you have screwed up, yet again?

I'll happily tell him that you're back so he can kill you again, Sheik thought nastily.

Changing the subject, a tactic you're very fond of when you know you cannot win the argument. Let me ask you something else—are you going to tell My Light what you and the assassin did that night when you got drunk?

How did you know—he stopped himself from thinking it too late. I thought you were completely deprived of sensory stimulation. How could you possibly know what was happening?

I could still experience the strong emotions you felt that night...and you thought about him and his name so hard that it even echoed through here. Oh dear, My Light won't take very well to the idea of you giving yourself so willingly to someone who turned out to be an enemy, tsk, tsk, tsk...

There were no strong emotions, Sheik thought. Nothing happened—

You can lie to yourself, Pet, but you cannot lie to me. I felt what you felt that night, and it was none other than pure desire and the ever so tiny buds of love... You were falling for the assassin and you didn't even realise it, did you? The shadow chuckled. You are so adorable when you're clueless...I'm surprised you've survived in the cold, harsh world for so long.

Sheik hung his head, refusing to even consider the idea. Mostly because he feared they were true. I really thought he was my friend... he finally thought.

And he was...until he saw his moment of opportunity to lay a trap for you. It was a masterful piece of deception, that. Worthy of...well, me. Only, I managed to get you to admit your love for me before I so cruelly took your life.

I just don't understand why, he continued, ignoring the comment about the night he'd died at the Forest Temple. It was unpleasant enough to have gone through it once—he didn't need to relive it in his thoughts. After everything he told me...after proclaiming to have so much hate for the guild...

Oh, those parts were almost definitely true, Speil said. But what were his alternatives? You weren't going to accept him...yet, anyway. And if he betrayed his guild, then he would have nowhere to go, especially not after the war. He hates it, but isn't there a saying that compares ruling in hell to serving in the heavens? Perhaps he thought something similar and decided to use the boon he's bound to receive for capturing you to raise his own position quite high in the guild?

If so, when did he decide this?

When you rejected him, most likely. It's amazing just how irrational one can act when one is turned down in favour of another...

The shadow's voice seemed to grow faint towards the end of the sentence, and he said nothing afterwards, indicating that he had perhaps gone dormant again. In a way, Sheik missed the voice, if only because it provided something other than his own thoughts to focus on. And those thoughts all revolved around the same thing—This is my fault.

"We have to break out of here," Kafei suddenly said. It was almost strange not to hear a string of expletives following his words.

"Really? And here I thought you were having such a grand time," Sheik said sarcastically. "I can't move far enough to do anything about the chains. You?"

"No," Kafei said after a few seconds of rustling chains. "They're barely long enough to get comfortable without cutting off my circulation."

"I think this is where they have novices kill people in order to graduate," Sheik said, finally giving voice to his theory on the room.

"Why make it comfortable for the targets, then?" Kafei asked.

"Maybe some of the novices take a long time in deciding what to do?"

"Sounds unlikely."

"Yes, well, I thought it unlikely that Jeryd would betray us, but look at what happened," Sheik said quietly, refusing to entertain the thoughts of Speil being right. He could own up to his mistakes, no problem.

"Hah, you've got that right, cousin," Kafei said, snorting. "But let's not waste time on thinking about the cretin. Believe me, there's plenty of time for me to lecture you on that later."

"Turning into Impa, are we?"

Kafei paused. "No," he said after a few seconds. "Never."

I hit a nerve, Sheik thought. "So, what do we do?" he asked.

"Considering neither of us can do shit in our current state, we'll simply have to wait until someone comes to give us food or something like that," Kafei said. "Hope to get the jump on 'em. How's your ability to break necks with your thighs?"

Sheik rolled his eyes. "An oddly specific question, isn't it?"

"Unless they untie our wrists, I can't think of another way to surprise them."

"You don't think they'll account for that?"

"Hey, you've got a better idea; I'd love to hear it."

"Eugh..."


Elenwe was uncomfortable. She was also livid, especially at Jeryd. But what ticker her off the most was the fact that she was alone. It was one thing to be betrayed like this, but this was really pushing it!

After they had been taken away from the small room leading to the sewers, she had quickly been separated from Sheik and Kafei and led down a different hallway than them. They twisted and turned and she quickly lost her orientation. They had led her into a small, dark chamber and tied her to a low, jointed table with manacles and complicated-looking machinery underneath it, securing her firmly before leaving her alone, but not before shutting off the gaslights. The second the door had slammed shut, it had gone pitch black. It was a pathetic attempt at scaring her—darkness had never been one of her fears.

No, what annoyed her about it was the fact that she'd been left alone to stew in her thoughts, with no one to vent them at. She hated that, not being able to release her frustration in a verbal torrent that'd drown her poor listener.

She was worried about Sheik and Kafei as well, but she knew how well those two could handle themselves and quickly pushed it down, focusing on her own situation instead.

It was all too obvious that there was going to be some sort of interrogation. They'd just chain her to the wall otherwise. She didn't fear that. She was quite used to being interrogated, not to mention using her natural charm to get out of it. Somehow, it was always the interrogator who ended up spilling his guts, both figuratively and literally—she never took kindly to being questioned in such ways.

She'd just have to take control of the situation as soon as she could. Men were so easy to trick, after all.

Barely an hour after she had been left in there the gaslights in the room came back on. It blinded her momentarily, her eyes having gotten used to the darkness. The door slammed open, blinding her further, but not so that she didn't spot two shapes quickly moving into the room. One of them was limping, using a cane to support themselves. The other was carrying a bag of some sort, which they quickly put on the floor before closing the door behind them.

Two of them, huh? She thought. Easy pickings.

"All right, whatever you're going to do, make it quick, yeah?" she said with a drawl, knowing that showing such nonchalance towards impending torture would unnerve her interrogators. "I have more important things to think about, such as what I'm going to do to a certain traitor when I get out of here."

When neither of them replied, she grinned. The strong and silent ones were her favourite. They always took a little while to crack, but when they did it was glorious. They usually didn't have many weaknesses, but they were really weaknesses. Push and prod incessantly at them, and it was like releasing floodgates. She'd lost count of how many she'd broken down over the years—it was always such fun!

"So, which one is the good guy and which is the bad guy?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to make them grow accustomed to the light a bit quicker. "I have to warn you, I can get pretty bad myself when the mood strikes me—what, hey!" She was interrupted when one of them quickly put a blindfold on her. Then part of the table began to rise as someone manipulated the wheels underneath, making her sit up in a most uncomfortable way. "Ooooh," she said, not skipping a beat with her routine, "I like this. Must very useful for funny business, eh?" she let her voice drop low towards the last part, hoping her voice was realistically seductive. It had been a while since she'd done this, after all.

When neither of her interrogators replied, she knew she might have a spot of trouble with them. Even the strong, silent ones began to speak at this point, either outlining the terrible things they'd do to her or telling her to be silent as they prepared, but these two...they just went about their preparations without a single word or sound. She heard their footsteps pacing around the room, the knock of the cripple's cane hovering around her at all times, while the other one was apparently unpacking their mixed bag of sure to be fun tools and things.

"So, tell me," she continued, suddenly feeling unsure. This wasn't how things usually went. "Are you assassins, or external contractors? Because I can tell you that contractors can't be trusted at all—no offense if you are, of course—"

She paused. The cripple had stopped right behind her and was leaning in close, feeling their hot breath on her ear.

"Haven't heard you say so many words in such a short time before, little Elenwe," said a female voice. "I must say, it is quite beautiful. It will be a pity to have to rip out your vocal chords."

A female interrogator, then? Elenwe thought. That was new. She wasn't entirely sure how to approach the situation. Sure, she had experience seducing women, but her skill at pinpointing their sore spots and nerves was less abundant than what she had with men. Perhaps she was...

Then it struck her. The voice. She knew it. Cold sweat immediately began to bead on her forehead.

"Ah, you recognise my voice, then," Aina said, chuckling to herself. "I was beginning to worry."

"I thought you were dead," Elenwe hissed, remembering Countess Marlotta's scary bodyguard and matron of her mansion. The one she'd shot while helping Link escape from the Countess' clutches.

"Oh, I was convinced of that myself until I woke up in Grim's care. It's amazing how much a master torturer would know about healing someone, isn't it? Oh, I apologise, you haven't been introduced. Elenwe, meet Grim. Grim, this is Elenwe. Say hello."

Elenwe said nothing, refusing to play along. She allowed herself a smirk. She might be a little out of her depth with Aina, but she was sure she'd have the woman snared around her little finger soon enough. It was just a matter of t—

She gave a surprised and pained growl as Aina grabbed her hand and twisted the wrist downwards—not hard enough to break it, but definitely enough to make it painful.

"I said, 'say hello', didn't I?" Aina said quietly and dangerously. When Elenwe still didn't say anything, she sighed. "I was hoping we wouldn't have to start so soon, but you give me no choice," she said and snapped Elenwe's wrist as if it was a dry branch.

Now Elenwe screamed, the pain of the bone breaking catching her off-guard just as much as the callous way Aina had done it. The shock of it ran all the way along her arm. She gasped, breathing hard.

"Are we going to play nice?" Aina asked sweetly.

"H-hello," Elenwe said, relieved as Aina gave a pleased sound and let go of her wrist. She gasped again when she tried to move her arm so she could cradle the wounded limb to herself. The manacle didn't budge, and all she did was give the wrist a good tug instead, which sent a lightning bolt of pain shooting through her whole body.

"Hello, miss," a man—Grim, presumably—said playfully. "Heard a lot about you. Will be a pleasure to turn you into a masterpiece."

"Masterpiece?" Elenwe muttered.

"Grim is a master torturer," Aina explained, suddenly standing in front of her...or so it seemed by the direction her voice came from. "But he's also a bit of a nutter, and there's nothing he loves more than to...find new ways of manipulating bodies into works of art, or so he says. Your flesh is his canvas, apparently."

The description made Elenwe's blood run cold, and her heart began to beat a bit faster. She knew it was just an attempt to scare her into divulging information, but...it was still scary.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to ignore the fact that someone was touching her broken wrist, as if they were imagining it. Grim, apparently.

"Want?" Aina asked, still standing in front of her. "What do you think?"

"Information," Elenwe said. "On the resistance..."

"On that rabble in the woods? Hah, we're keeping tabs on them even as we speak, my dear Elenwe. There's nothing you tell me about them that we don't already know."

"...information on the airships and how we blew them up, then," she tried again. "How to prevent us doing it again."

"Then why would we allow you to do it once to begin with?"

Now Elenwe was stumped. If Aina didn't want information on the resistance or the airships, what could they...

"The Sheikah?" she asked.

"What about them?" Aina said.

"What do you want to know?"

"I really couldn't care less about them," Aina said, sounding bored. "Besides, there are others who will pump them for information on their pathetic little clan. Malcolm's too much of sentimental fool if you ask me—we don't need the Sheikah to work out our own little traditions. So that's a no, Elenwe."

"Then what do you want?" Elenwe roared.

"Certainly not information," Aina said, moving stand beside her again, leaning close. "You're worthless to the guild, unlike your Sheikah friends. You were actually going to be killed when they captured you, but I made a little plea with the master, and he agreed to give me to you."

"Why?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"You crippled me, Elenwe," Aina said slowly. "You ruined my career and made a fool of me in front of the other assassins. Everything I have worked for so far, you destroyed with a single crossbow belt to my chest. I am practically useless as an assassin now, and the only reason the master hasn't had me killed yet is because of my years of faithful service to the guild. I have never been so humiliated, and I intend to pay you back tenfold for what you have done to me."

"H-how?"

"By making you feel every bit of pain I have, and more so. I'm going to let Grim have his way with your body. And in the end, maybe, maybe I will put an end to it. Of perhaps I will let the other assassins have their way with you first. You're quite an exotic beauty, after all. That's how you ingratiated yourself with the Countess. She never could resist the cute and unknown..."

The blindfold was ripped away, and Elenwe blinked in surprise as she found Aina's face inches from her own, her eyes filled with maniacal glee.

"I'll leave you in Grim's hands now," she said, walking away and sitting down in a chair in the corner. "And I will enjoy watching every second of it. She's all yours." She directed the last part to Grim, who was still touching and prodding Elenwe's broken wrist. It was red and swollen already.

The man looked insane. Barely a hair on his head, the few strands left lying across his grotesquely shaped skull in a vain attempt to cover it up. His face was covered in acne and scars from previous pimples, his teeth a mess of brown and sickening yellow bits sticking out of his gums. One of his eyes was missing, the other a deep black with practically no white to be seen anywhere. His nose had apparently been broken and set more than once, and none-too-skilfully by the look of it. There was a glint to his remaining eye as he seemingly admired the swollen skin and enjoyed the small hisses Elenwe made as he prodded at the joint.

"Such a clean break," he muttered. "You are an artist, mistress matron."

"Just mistress, Grim," Aina said with an annoyed sound.

"Apologies, mistress," Grim said, and grinned, displaying the results of years and years of dental neglect. "What would you like me to do first?"

"Mmm, I don't know," Aina said as she raked her eyes all over Elenwe's form. "There's so much to choose from..." Her eyes landed on Elenwe's fingernails, which she had tried to keep in somewhat decent shape. "Ah, I know," Aina said with a grin. "Pull out her nails, Grim. One by one, and slowly. I want it to hurt."

"Yes, mistress," Grim said and went to fetch his tools. "Not that it'd be pleasant either way, but—"

"No commentary, please," Aina interrupted him. "I only want to hear one thing: her screams."

Elenwe stared back at her, feeling like she was dreaming. This couldn't be true. Aina was going to torture her just for the heck of it? All because of...well, she had good reason, but surely no one was that cruel? Her mind raced, desperately trying to think of a way to get her out of this situation with just the broken wrist as a testament to it. Surely there was something Aina wanted besides...this?

"I'll tell you anything," she said, feeling like a fool. She was a veteran of a thousand interrogations, it felt like, always coming out on top, but...she'd never just been tortured before! Grim was once again at her side and was holding a pair of pliers. He clamped it firmly down on the nail of her thumb, and she felt panic rising in her chest.

"There's only one thing I want to know," Aina said, shrugging. "And that's how painful it is." She gave Grim a nod.

Elenwe's next words were interrupted by the scream that erupted from her throat as Grim began to pull.

This was only the beginning.

To be continued...