Good news, folks! CM liked the prompt she gave me so much that she went off and did her own drabble. THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS: IT'S A TWO-FOR-ONE SPECIAL!

Now presenting: Swashbuckling tomfoolery. Order(s) up!


Lyxie's Shortie: Freedom

Link looked around the tavern, bored out of his wits. When he'd been assigned to act as personal guard to the High Duke's son on the tour of the seven-and-seven islands, he'd thought it would be a tour of adventure, romance. He'd see far away, exotic places. Meet exciting new people.

But really, it had been just a bunch of blue ocean, followed by a quick escort to shore and up to whatever local governor's manse there was, and then, in the evening, a trek down to the waterfront and whatever slummy, scummy tavern the Ducal Heir had determined to patronize. Then, it was a long, long night of watching His Lordship drink too much ale and get fleeced by ill-washed scoundrels.

Goddesses and Graces, he was bored. He absently ran a finger underneath the silver collar he wore around his neck— a thrall collar, one he'd worn since he was a child, a mark of his servitude to the Duke. It wasn't ordinary for thralls to be warriors, but Link had shown an aptitude, and anyway, the magic on the metal prevented him from ever harming His Lordship.

Much as he might have liked to, sometimes.

His Lordship was drunk: Link could tell from the way the young man threw back his head too vigorously, roared with laughter too loudly. His Lordship resumed a more-or-less sitting position, though he was leering down the bodice of his drinking partner.

The woman was no different than any of the other thousand doxies Link had seen thus far. Features that had likely been pretty once were hidden by too much makeup, and her hair had been bundled up beneath a stiff, disgusting wig that had likely been last washed a decade or more ago. She wore fading pink finery, the lace at the cuffs, hem, and collar all tatty, the scoop of her neckline far too low. Her breasts were pushed up in an obscene way, and Link mentally scowled in disgust. His Lordship was all but drooling onto those breasts.

His Lordship was going to need quite a bit of medication to clear up assorted intimate diseases before this tour was over.

Link wasn't able to restrain a frustrated sigh as the doxie rose, leading His Lordship along. The sotted fool staggered enthusiastically along after the woman towards one of the back rooms that had been reserved for the exchange of these exact types of services. Link pushed away from the wooden beam he was propping up and followed wearily after His Lordship, not looking forward to another evening spent eavesdropping on masculine grunts, false giggles, and the wet slap of flesh on flesh.

As Link followed, a drunken fool staggered into his path. Annoyed, Link stood the fellow upright, tilting the drunk out of his way. Unfortunately, the drunk didn't take too kindly to Link's correction and threw a punch.

"I don't think so," Link said, easily dodging the blow. He struck the man in the stomach, the foot, and the back of the neck, and the fellow crumpled, wheezing and gargling in pain. Link stepped over his prone, twitching form and followed along after His Lordship, cursing himself for ever agreeing to this lousy job.

The drunk's actions had delayed Link's pursuit of His Lordship, and he'd missed which door the young hothead had vanished behind. He strode slowly down the hall, listening, grimacing. Giggles. Grunts. Moans. But he didn't recognize His Lordship's voice behind any of those doors— and he'd spent enough evenings eavesdropping that he would recognize it, whether he wanted to or not.

And then he heard something else.

"Tie him up quick, Nudge. We don't know how long Gonzo bought us delaying his guard."

Link took a few steps back and drew his pistol and sword both. There was trouble behind that door, and Link was willing to bet every miserable coin in his miserably tiny purse that His Lordship was right smack dab in the middle of it. Link took a deep breath and kicked in the door, and sure enough, there was His Lordship, his pants around his ankles, unconscious. A big fellow with lamentably puffy mutton chops was tying His Lordship up, and the doxie was rooting through His Lordship's pockets.

Link aimed the pistol at the woman, figuring she was the brains behind the operation, and pulled down the safety.

"I must ask you to politely back away from His Grace," Link said.

The doxie's eyes were very wide now. Her gaze flicked behind Link, and too late he realized that the drunk he'd felled wasn't drunk, and was no longer felled. As Link turned to confront the man again, he felt a searing pain on the back of his head, and then—


Link hated boats. He hated being on a boat. He hated the sea, and he hated seasickness, and he hated everything about boats.

Judging from the feel of it, he hadn't had enough water yesterday: His head was aching. He'd been dehydrated a few times on this trip, and had grown to loathe the sensation. He sat up slowly, and only then realized that he wasn't sleeping in a hammock, but on the floor.

The swaying floor.

Link blinked around. He didn't recognize his surroundings. That would be because he was in a brig, he realized. And with that, he came to with a start, jerking upright— only to find that he'd been shackled.

"Awake, are you?"

There was a woman sitting on the other side of the cell bars— as a matter of fact, she was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Link hadn't noticed her, she'd sat so still and so quietly, but now she stood and approached and he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She squatted down, peering at Link through the bars. She was very pretty, with round, dark blue eyes, hair bleached nearly white by the sun, and a dusting of cinnamon freckles across her tanned face. She wore long, loose white trousers, a soft pink shirt, a brilliantly blue vest, and a red kerchief.

It was the eccentricity of her garb that made Link realize she was a pirate.

"Pirate!"

"Definitely awake." She folded her hands between her knees, peering at him. "How's the head?"

"Where am I? Where's His Lordship?"

"His Lordship is back on land, waking up a mite poorer and without his faithful little lapdog," the pirate said. She patted a bag at her waist— one that jingled, one that Link realized had belong to His Lordship. Link slumped against the wall.

"What about me?"

The pirate arched a brow. Link realized that this pirate— this beautiful pirate woman— was the doxy from the night before. It had all been a trap.

"You're on a pirate ship," she said, her tone disdainful.

"Obviously. Why have you kidnapped me? His Lordship would fetch a prettier ransom."

"Oh, ransom." The woman snorted and rolled her eyes. "It's never worth it. No— We're going to get that shiny piece of metal off from around your neck." She sniffed disdainfully. "Barbaric practice, slavery. What do you think, Mister Thrall? Are you ready to be free?"

Link gawked at her for a long moment. Then he touched his head. The pirate frowned.

"What?"

"Just how hard did you hit me, exactly?" He asked, awed.

The woman smirked. There was something gentle about it, though, something soft in his eyes.

"Not hard enough to make you hallucinate," she said. She nodded at the collar. "I'm going to keep you in the brig until we've got that off you. Security, you understand."

Link nodded, stunned. Shaken. Rattled to his very core. "I understand," he said. Some thrall collars had unpredictable effects: when separated from a master's control, the thrall might become violent, or irrational, or might try to harm themself. Locking Link in the brig was as much for his own safety as for the safety of the pirate crew.

Link sighed and relaxed against the wall he was slumping against.

"Thank you," he said to the pirate. Her lips quirked in a smile.

"You're welcome," he said.


They were at sea for a week. Link hated being stuck belowdecks, hated the tilt and sway of the wooden deck beneath him. But he'd do anything, tolerate anything, if it meant his freedom.

Link had a steady rotation of visitors of the piratical persuasion, but by far his most regular visit was the woman— who, Link learned from the fellow who had knocked him out— was the captain.

"Cap'n Zelda makes it a habit to free any slaves she finds, y'know," said a little, weedy fellow with bottlecap spectacles. "Learned it from her mother, like."

"Her mother?" Link perked up in interest.

"Cap'n Zelda grew up on this ship," the fellow explained. "Her mother was the cap'n before her."

Link nodded thoughtfully. "What happened? Was there some tragic accident?"

"Naw." The fellow grinned, exposing buck teeth. "Retired and founded an enclave for freed folk like yourself. I 'spect that's where the cap'n 'll take you, once you're freed-like."

"I see," Link said.

For some reason, he found the thought of being dumped on some random island with a bunch of strangers disheartening. He hadn't given much thought to what he would do once he was free. All he knew was he'd never, ever go back to the duchy, or ever serve another spoiled sot like His Lordship.

Given the choice— given the freedom to choose— where would Link go? What would he do?

He didn't know.

Pondering this sent him into a bout of moody introversion. It was severe enough that the captain commented on it when she brought Link dinner that night. She'd been the one to bring most of his meals, actually, which had surprised him; when he'd asked why, she'd shrugged and said, "Why not?"

"Because you're the captain. It's grunt work."

She'd grinned and winked at him.

"Perk of being Captain is that you get to make your own rules," she'd responded, then shoved the tray at him through the flap in his cell. "Eat up."

Tonight, though, the captain approached him with a spring in her step, holding the tray like a waitress at a fancy restaurant.

"Eat up, slave boy," she said, grinning. "It's your last night with that collar. Tomorrow, you'll be free."

Link perked up a little at that, and took the tray gratefully as she slid it through the hatch. He fell to eating, but found himself drifting off in thought. Tomorrow he'd be free. How long after that until he was banished from the ship— kindly banished, yes, but still banished?

"What's wrong?" the captain asked. "You're not inhaling your food like you usually do. Are you feeling alright?" She arched a brow. "Nervous, maybe?"

"No… Yes…" He shrugged. "I keep wondering… What'll happen to me once I'm free?"

The captain sat back on her heels. She was crouching outside his cell, like she always did, and she studied him quizzically.

"Freedom's a scary thing to contemplate, isn't it?" She smiled crookedly. "Don't worry, Link. You'll be alright."

Link nodded vaguely, but didn't feel much better. Though the captain made a few more attempts at conversation, Link was too preoccupied to reply, and at last, she gave up, looking regretful as she took his tray away.

"Get some sleep," she told him, not ungently. "It'll be a big day tomorrow. You'll want your rest."

They'd supplied him with blankets, pillows— as many reasonable comforts as could be fitted into a cell, but not so many that he might be able to hurt himself with them. Link curled up and drowsed into an uneasy slumber. He dreamt that they arrived wherever the pirates were taking him, and his collar wouldn't come off— or they'd change their mind, and decided to keep him as a slave of their own— or, worse, they'd sell him back to the Duke, and he'd be forced to trawl along after His Lordship through the islands once more…

In the morning, Link was awoken by the soft thud of the ship docking and dropping the gangplank. The two largest of the pirate crew came to collect Link, and he stood obediently while they shackled him, hands and feet, so that he would be unable to harm anyone. They led him out of the brig and up to the deck— Link was astounded to see the ship was generously sized, brightly painted, with cheery white sails. The wood shone with love and good care, and Link felt a little pang that this— his first sight of deck— might well be his last.

Then they escorted him down the gangplank and onto a jungle island. The captain was waiting, wearing a simple white dress rather than her usual colorful garb, and smiled at Link bracingly.

"Not long now and you'll be free," she told him. "Free to choose."

Link nodded mutely, hope and terror warring within him.

It was early— only just after dawn— and the island was verdant, dripping with dew, overflowing with the noises of strange jungle beasts. Link followed the captain down a path that was nearly invisible in the thick brush.

The two largest pirates— Gonzo and Nudge, their names were— escorted Link behind the captain. They weren't frog marching him, not exactly, but Link knew that if he made any sudden motions, if the collar compelled him to take some action, the two would stop him. They would never let him harm the captain.

He only hoped that he hadn't misplaced his trust in these pirates. He only hoped that they wouldn't harm him.

After a brisk hike— one that was made difficult by Link's hobbles and shackles— they arrived at a grotto with pure blue water that seemed very nearly to glow with some magical light. As Link watched, the captain pulled that pale blonde hair of hers down from its usual sever knot. It fell in gentle waves down to her waist, and Link itched to touch it. She stepped out of her sturdy hiking boots at the edge of the grotto, wading into the glowing pool all dressed in white.

"Link, come here," she said.

Link wasn't sure if it was the water, or the light, or that fall of pale hair that floated around her like aa cloud, but there seemed to be something ethereal about her now, something more-than-human, something very nearly divine. She seemed to be glowing. Mesmerized, he stumbled forward into the water, wading in awkwardly. He was aware of how grubby and filthy he was: He'd washed in the water that had been brought to him, changed out of his slave's uniform and into loose garb, but still, compared to the captain, he was filthy and grubby and nothing.

On the shore, he heard the soft rustle of the pirates moving away into the brush, giving them privacy. But Link didn't turn to watch them go. Didn't pull his unwavering attention away from the captain.

"Give me your hands, Link," the captain said, her voice soft and assured. Link obeyed as though hypnotized. At her touch, the metal of his shackles fell away, dissolving into nothing. He felt his hobbles likewise vanishing. She held his hands in hers, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Link felt something creeping up his arms. It felt like kindness, like warmth, like the shimmer of light reflecting off of water. It swirled up him, then concentrated around his neck. It warmed further, heating until it was nearly hot, heating until his slave collar was nearly scalding— and then—

PLINK.

The collar popped open and fell off, splashing into the water. Link looked down and saw it drift to the bottom of the pool, and dissolve into so much silver mist.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled. His hand went to his neck.

The collar was gone.

Gone.

"You're free now," Zelda said softly. "Congratulations."

Joy rose within him, incandescent and pure. He was free. He was free. He smiled, and the captain looked at him as though she'd never seen him before. Then she smiled back, too.

"What will you do now?" She asked him. "Have you thought about it much?"

"A bit," Link admitted.

"Where shall we take you? I know that Mako told you about my mother's colony..."

"No," Link said quickly. "No. I don't want you to take me anywhere," he said. At the confusion on the captain's face, he cleared his throat. "I was hoping that I might… stay."

"Here?" Zelda looked around in clear befuddlement. "On this island?"

"No." Link knew he was blushing now. "With you. On your ship. I'm a fair fighter— I'll probably be even better now that I've got that damned collar off— and if you'll have me…"

She stared at him for a long time, long enough for Link to begin to fidget. Then a smile bloomed across her face, as bright and radiant as the dawn.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Yes, I'll have you for certain." She ran a hand up his arm, to his shoulder, and Link thought for a moment that she might pull him to her… but she merely patted his cheek fondly, then turned.

"Come along, Link," she said as she began to stride out of the water, her white gown clinging to her as she ascended from the grotto. "We've work to do."

"Absolutely," Link said, grinning. He knew he must look a fool, but he didn't care. He was free! He was staying with the pirates! And— and if he was right, he'd get an adventure of a lifetime with the captain, and maybe even something more, too—

"Hurry up!"

"Aye, ma'am!"

And, without another thought to the silver collar that was gone, gone forever, Link followed Zelda into the jungle, eager for the first time in his life to see what his future held.


AND THAT'S MY PIECE! I'd originally intended to have more swashing and buckling and high seas adventure, but I got all caught up in the idea of sympathetic pirates (why would they be sympathetic?) and wondering why Link would ever agree to go with them when we know he's loyal to a fault, and… this is what we got. Certainly not what I'd planned, but an interesting one nonetheless.

And now, may I present to you, part two by the incomparable, incredible CrazygurlMadness, with all the yar har and shivering timbers you could ask for. ORDER UP!


CM's Shortie: Heroic

The sails clapped like thunder in the wind as the massive corvey angled over the waves, tilting seaward. The timbers shivered and deep in the heart of the ship the rudder groaned against the combined forces of the water, the wood, the wind and the will of its captain.

Clinging to the rigging, Captain Link Forester of the First Ordonian Command observed the ship on the broadside get nearer, angling into range of the long nines, and forced his heartbeat to grow steady. At the rudder, First Officer Bo cursed, though Link could not hear exactly what blasphemy he was muttering; his teeth were gritted as he kept the rudder sharply angled, and under them the ship was turning, swinging into position.

Quartermaster Hanch raced up the steps to the aftcastle, his buckled shoes clopping on the freshly cleaned deck. "Captain," he said, "we're ready to engage."

Link nodded, but didn't reply. His eyes were fixed on the other ship and its deep blue sails, wondering how expensive those were to dye and maintain, and marveling at the hubris of making one's ship so immediately recognizable, boasting one's wealth, displaying one's crimes. His own white sails and standards were high quality, but he wouldn't have dreamed of cutting into his crew's pay to dye them some fancy colour.

It wouldn't matter soon. After the other ship had attacked the Medilia, one of their own, and been repelled, Link and his crew had received the order to pursue, and pursue they would.

"We're coming within range," Second Officer Rusl announced.

Link turned to his quartermaster. "Mr. Hanch, prepare for the fire order." Then, to Signals Officer Coro, he said, "Mr. Coro, raise the flags: this is the final warning. If they do not fold their sails and prepare for an orderly seizure, we will open fire."

Officer Coro nodded, gesturing urgently to his own officers; the crossed red flag and other pennants were hastily lined up and raised.

Link turned his attention back to the nearing bulk of the beautiful ship across the waves. The Pearl of Wisdom was a legendary craft, a ship that had once belonged to the Hyrulean Navy, before the kingdom fell, and though they'd given the order for it to halt, it was still cutting across the waves smoothly, trying to speed away.

Interesting. It did not have the habit of running from a scuffle, or so Link had been told.

He glanced up at the Calatian flag on his mast and wondered. The Pearl of Wisdom did not bear the standard of any nation. Pirate ships seldom did, unless they were trying to masquerade as something else; still, Link wondered what the ship must have looked like in its early days, bearing the proud flag of Hyrule… Link had only known the Calatian flag; the little province of Ordon, from which his crew originated, had been annexed when he'd been only a boy, and all Hyrulean flags had burned that day.

Not that it mattered now, he reminded himself. The orders from Calatia's Naval Command were clear and explicit: the Pearl of Wisdom was to be captured and returned to Port Windfall. Failing that, it was to sink and no quarter was to be shown. The very presence of the ship on the seas for the past twenty years was an affront to the Calatian conquest. Apparently.

"Come on," he whispered, blinking against the sunlight. "Don't make this into a fight."

His ship, the Red Lion, first and only ship in the Ordonian Command, was faster and lighter than the Pearl of Wisdom. A recent construction, the newest model of corvey could almost fly over the waves, and it packed more firepower. The Pearl wouldn't stand a chance; as soon as the Lion opened fire, it would explode into splinters and tatters.

"Mr. Coro," he said, grimly, "raise one last pennant."

"Yes, sir?"

Link glanced at the young officer and managed a thin smile. "Ask them nicely."

"You want me to say 'please', sir?" Officer Coro asked, confused.

Link raised a brow. Officer Bo cursed again, but not at them. He just liked to curse.

Officer Coro returned to his men, frowning, and picked out the triangular yellow pennant, hoisting it.

For a moment, the Pearl of Wisdom did not respond, though Link could see men racing over its decks and riggings; he watched the aftline, which remained frustratingly bare.

And then, the men on the Pearl began to fold the deep blue sails. Link's heart lurched; the Pearl began to slow.

"Mr. Bo," he said, rushing to the stairs, "get us closer, nice and smooth." He could almost hear Officer Bo grumbling (he claimed never to sail anything but smoothly), but Link didn't care. "Mr. Hanch, hold. Do not fire."

The Pearl of Wisdom came to a complete stop a few minutes later, and as the two ships drifted closer, Link could see the resentful, wan expressions on the face of the crew across the waves.

"Gentlemen," he said, to his assembled crew, "no sudden movements. If they attack, give no quarter."

Across the way, a powerful voice boomed: "We'll speak to the Captain!"

Link glanced over. The other crew did not have uniforms; some of them were bare-footed. But they looked strong and well-fed, and their expressions did not give the impression that they felt particularly at a disadvantage.

"I am the Captain," Link called across. "Where is yours?"

"You'll have to come aboard," the large man responded. He was big and burly, tanned by long hours at sea.

"You can't," Officer Rusl immediately said. "Sir."

But Link didn't quite agree. The Pearl of Wisdom never ran from a fight, the stories said; it certainly never agreed to parlay. This was new. This was strange. The risk was substantial, but the reward… Capturing the Pearl without shedding a single drop of blood? He had to try, at the very least. "I will cross," he said. "I will keep my weapons. My men have the order to sink you if I am harmed."

His crew said nothing. Even First Officer Bo didn't curse.

Across the way, the large man― presumably the First Mate― considered the proposal.

Then, grimacing: "Fine."

The Pearl of Wisdom was beautiful, Link saw at once, the moment he stepped onto the deck. Its wooden balustrades and embellishments were painstakingly carved and had been often repainted after battles; here and there Link could see patches where the paint was not quite the same shade as it had been. The men too, he saw, were hale and strong; though they wore simple clothes, they did not seem ill or poor.

It was almost a shame. A crew like this would have been an asset to the Calatian Navy. As things stood, they might all be tried for piracy in Windfall and jailed or hanged.

A good, healthy crew was the sign of a savvy captain. Link's curiosity grew. All they knew for sure of the Pearl of Wisdom's captain was that he was skilled and sharp. Stories varied on his mercilessness; some said he granted peace and freedom to slaveships (even amassing a sizeable fleet of subordinate ships) and spared those that surrendered without violence (something Link had counted on when he'd asked nicely). Others spoke of a shadow of violence and spite that sank Calatian Navy ships without a second thought, leaving only burning wreckage in its wake.

But that last part evidently wasn't true. The Red Lion was clearly a Calatian ship, and the Pearl had not fired once.

He followed the First Mate to the door of the captain's cabin, loosely keeping a hand on the handle of his firearm. None of the men around him seemed eager to murder him, but they didn't seem thrilled by his presence either.

The door swung open on silent hinges, and the First Mate glared at him. "You can enter."

"Thank you, Gonzo," a soft voice said, from within.

Link's blood ran cold. A female voice.

He entered the cabin, blinking against the dim light. The curtains were drawn on the windows of the aftcastle, with only a few rays filtering in. Around him, the Pearl was silent, waves lapping against the wood below.

"You may stop right there," the voice suddenly said, much closer than he'd expected.

Blinking, his eyes adjusted just enough for him to make out the barrel of a thin rifle pointed directly at his face. He startled back half a step, but did not flee. Beyond the cannon, the Pearl's captain was lounging in a bunk, looking feverish.

She was―She was stunning. "You can't be the captain," Link blurted out.

Her eyes narrowed. Her voice, when she spoke again, was soft, with a breathy quality that was almost sensual, if not for the fact that it came from sickness. "Why not?"

Link studied her, dismayed. Blonde. Her hair was long, falling over her shoulders like a drape of gold, matted from sweat, but gently curled in just that way that would have made the envy of a hundred Calatian beauties. Her face was a soft oval, symmetrical, with a small, heart-shaped mouth and a pert nose, and eyes― gods above. Eyes keen and fierce and the colour of shallows on a white sand beach, the colour of the low clouds in a hurricane, the colour of the Verdant sea under direct sunlight―

"You're a woman," he breathed.

He had expected a hundred eventualities, but somehow this was not one of them.

"Is that so?" She rasped, scowling.

She shifted on her bunk, though the barrel of her rifle did not shift in the slightest. Her robe fell open slightly, and Link saw the beginning of a mound of flesh below her collarbone, looking pale and soft and― oh gods he hadn't been at port in a while.

But even at port, he'd be hard-pressed to find a woman this beautiful. "Forgive me," he managed hoarsely, "I―" He blinked; he couldn't stop staring. He couldn't think. He averted his gaze. "I didn't mean to imply―"

"Your accent," she interrupted. "It's Hylian."

She was good. Now that he wasn't blinking at her through the darkness, he frowned at the carpet ―an exquisite Sheikah rug, lush and finely patterned― and realized she… "You're Hylian too," he realized.

"Hyrulean," she said. "Like my ship."

"Hyrule doesn't exist anymore," Link said.

"Hyrule exists so long as I say it exists," she breathed. Her voice was so soft; despite the iron of her will, he could hear the fever weakening her. Not that he could see weakness in the firm grip of her rifle.

"That isn't your call," Link muttered. "If my folks'd had it their way, Ordon would still be Hyrulean. But the conquest happened anyway."

"It is my call," she said, simply. "I don't expect you to understand. How did an Ordonian become captain of the Calatian Navy?"

"One command at a time," Link said. He dared to look at her again, and found her no less beautiful than she had been the first time. "How did a sickly woman become captain of a Hyrulean pirate ship?"

She snorted weakly. "I wasn't always sick." Now the rifle did tilt downwards, so she leveled it up again. "We need to talk, Captain…?"

"Link Forester," he said.

She studied him with an odd little expression on her face, a mix of contempt and nostalgia. "Forester," she whispered. "Definitely Ordonian."

"And your name?"

She rolled her eyes and shifted again, trying to make herself comfortable on her bunk. Her robe shifted back, the glimpse of soft breast vanished, and Link mourned it. "I want to negotiate on equal terms with you, Captain Forester," she said.

"Then your name is necessary," he insisted.

"I assure you it is not," she softly said, laughing without humour. "Please," she said, gesturing with the barrel of her rifle. "Take a seat."

"Is the gun really required?" He asked, turning one of her elegant chairs around ―a gloriously appointed, padded chair in the style of the Third Minish Empire.

"It may be. What are the orders of the Calatian Navy regarding my ship?"

Link studied her. "Ideally, my orders are to return you and your crew to Windfall, to await trial."

"And not ideally?"

"Sink you. Give no quarter." His heart was pounding from the threat of her gun, but he couldn't stop looking past it, couldn't help studying her, admiring the firm resolve that suppressed sickness to treat with him on even ground. "I would rather not sink you."

"I noticed," she snorted. This time her eyes lit up a little with amusement. "You did say 'please'." Her lips pulled into a smile. "I wasn't going to stop, but no one's ever said please to me before. I wanted to know what kind of man would do that." Her smile faded, and that strange nostalgia returned to her face. "Now I know. An Ordonian."

"Ordon doesn't exist anymore," he said. "It's part of Faron now."

"But you still exist," she whispered. "Are you any less Ordonian?"

He frowned, confused. "No." He hadn't thought about it, hadn't thought of his childhood that way. "I suppose not."

"Exactly," she said, gently. She exhaled. She looked tired.

"If you are ill, I'm sure I can arrange for special treatment in Windfall," Link said. "No one knew a woman captained this ship. That is a mitigating circumstance. People don't like to hang women. Perhaps you could be spared from the noose."

She shot him a dark little glare, sudden and mutinous. "What about my crew?"

Link swallowed thickly. "I cannot make promises― I could vouch for your own gallantry if you cooperate―"

She laughed weakly, heaving chuckles that made it clear she was in pain. "Respectfully, Captain Forester, fuck off." She was uncomfortable and shifted again―

"Do you need medical care?" Link asked. He pushed to his feet, and she raised the rifle in warning, with a groan. Ignoring the threat, he said, "Our medical officer is a skilled surgeon, and we just refilled our pharmacy."

"What do you care?" She breathed. "You'll be sending us all to our deaths right afterwards." She was wincing, and the rifle lowered, tilting downwards. Finally, the barrel softly thumped against the carpet, and she gave up. "I cannot follow you, Captain."

"I dare say," Link said, approaching. "You're obviously in pain; you should lie down. I'll think no less of you."

She squinted at him. "No, Captain. I mean that I must refuse capture."

Link frowned at her. "What?" He looked around at her richly decorated cabin. "That's―" He looked back at her. "You can't."

"I will," she breathed. She fell back against her pillows ―Twili silks and satins of the finest quality― and took several deep breaths before continuing. "I will shoot you, and your crew will destroy me. My crew may resist and be captured, but I will sink with this ship."

Link stared down at her, bewildered. She was beautiful, even pale like this, even with a sheen of sweat on her forehead. His gut turned to lead. "But… Why?"

"Because I do not trust Calatia not to use me for its own ends, and I cannot trust that you will let me die." She smiled weakly up at him. "You look like the heroic type. You'd try to save me."

"I would," Link said. "I will, if you will let me. I could take you to Windfall and vouch―"

"I will not set foot on land," she softly said. Her hand on the rifle was limp. Her eyes were half closed. "There is no land left for me."

He looked at her, really looked at her. Something in his mind was screaming, shouting for him to think, to remember, and in the face of his own ineptitude, he asked, "Who are you?"

She smiled weakly. Her pale, long-fingered hand went to her breast, to the folds of her robe, dipping into her collarline, and his pulse leapt in his throat. Tugging on a thread of gold, she removed a medallion from beneath her clothes, and left it to rest on her collarbone. Then, her hand fell and she observed him in silence.

Heart pounding in his ears, Link kneeled at the side of her bunk. Hesitantly, he reached out.

The medallion was warm from her skin; the warmth seeped into his fingers, racing over his scalp, down his spine, to his gut. It was worn smooth by the years, but he could tell it was still exquisite… The craftsmanship… the goldwork was Hylian, with Hyrulean marks and symbols.

When he turned it over, he saw a portrait he recognized from his earliest boyhood, a family portrait― a large man, a beautiful woman… a little girl sitting on a throne.

Golden-haired.

His eyes went to the woman, to the captain of the Pearl of Wisdom, to that feverish gaze and that beautiful face, and the words that came out of his mouth were strangled. "Princess Zelda."

She smiled and gestured vaguely to the darkened cabin. "Welcome, my subject," she said with faint irony, "to what remains of a free Hyrule."

She was beautiful; Link's heart was pounding. The medallion shook in his hand, or perhaps his own hand was shaking. "They said you were dead."

"I will be," she whispered weakly. "When you carry out your orders or when the infection from my wound finally ends me."

Link looked at the medallion again, breathing unsteadily.

"How did you get hurt?" He asked, though he had a suspicion.

She gestured to her robes and pulled them aside; the bandages were soaked through with blood. "Bullet wound. I wanted my men to carry on with the attack, but…" She sighed.

"That was the flagship Medilia you attacked at Outset Isle," Link wryly said. "Calatia wasn't going to let you sink it, and ensured its Navy could finally test its new model of corvey against yours."

She breathed silently for a long moment before saying, "Damn them all. The Pearl of Wisdom used to be the master of these waters. I didn't think we'd lose our edge so quickly." She shut her eyes, wincing. "The cost of Hyrule having no dry docks left, I suppose."

Link looked at the wound. From this close, it smelled pungently of blood, the tang of iron and fever mingling in his nose. The decision clicked into place in his mind before he was fully sure of it. "I need to speak to my crew," he said. "Your Majesty."

She looked up at him as he pushed to his feet. Her eyes widened. "What did you just call me?"

"I have to speak to my crew," Link said. "And I will return with my surgeon."

He turned, just in time to hear her grunt. The clicking of metal, and he knew she was angling the rifle at him again.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I can't. You can't leave this cabin. I will not let Calatia have me, and I will not let them take my ship." She was weak, but the snarl of pain on her face betrayed how serious she was. "I will die free." Then, imploringly, "Don't you understand? Calatia has known who captained this ship the entire time. Your orders― they mean only to destroy Hyrule for good. Your homeland―"

He turned. She was weak, the resolve steeled in her feverish eyes.

Link gently grabbed the barrel of the rifle and tugged, removing it from her weak hands, and he saw her suppress tears. "Captain," he said, softly, setting the rifle softly on the carpet, "I know my orders. I must speak with my crew. My Ordonian crew."

She blinked at him, and he stared at her, willing her to understand. She was growing weaker from their conversation; her fever was making her fingers tremble. He reached out and took her hand, holding it firmly.

"They remember," he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips. She was watching him, those incredible eyes wide on his. "And so do I." He pressed his mouth to her knuckles, feeling strong, feeling broken. "Your Majesty," he whispered against her skin, revelling in the softness of her, and he felt her shiver. Then, insistently, "I will return with my surgeon… and my crew's decision."

"It would be madness," she whispered.

"For Hyrule," he breathed. For you.

It was madness, Link agreed to himself as he reemerged into the sunlight, transformed.

But his heart beat powerfully in his chest, and for the first time he had a sense that something meaningful had just changed his life… He intended to follow this trail to its conclusion, wherever it led.

And if the gods were just, he'd see her hale and happy. Gods, she'd likely steal his breath away when she smiled at him for the first time.

That seemed a worthy enough cause to justify desertion and treason, he thought, smiling.

For Hyrule.

For her.


That's it! I hope you've enjoyed our two-for-one special. Don't you just love the world that CM has built? So yummy. Mmmmm. Nobody does political intrigue like her.

Drop us a little sugar in the review box. Coming up tomorrow night… Chef's Special! I think I'm going to write a short little scene about waking up beside the person you love best. But we'll see how I'm feeling tomorrow. Until then, stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.