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.

The Voice
Chapter 75 - Choke on It

The tension in the lab could be cut with a knife as the two combatants faced each other across the desk, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. The onlookers could only look on in horror as the past hour's battle was reaching its bitter end. Never had they expected to see such a titanic struggle in their lives, but here they were, witnessing it in all its awful glory.

Sheik's eyelid twitched.

"Final offer," he said with barely restrained violence in his voice (which, to be fair, was always there anyway). "One tissue sample, one vial of oxygenated internal liquid. That is more than fair."

"Fair?" Robbie said, brow furrowing and leaning across the table, nearly tumbling off his step-stool. "How is that fair? That's barely enough for an analysis, much less an experiment. No, not good enough. One tissue sample, two vials of oxygenated internal liquid, and a vial of saliva. That's my final offer!"

"Oh, I'll be more than happy to spit in your face, if that's what you're asking," Sheik said, scowling. "I might even throw in a vial of pi—"

"Fine, fine! One tissue sample, two vials of blood!"

They glared at each other for another few, extremely tense seconds, at which point Sheik nodded.

"Deal," he said, reaching across the table to shake Robbie's hand.

It was the coldest handshake Hyrule had ever seen, and the participants couldn't separate fast enough, wiping their hands on their trousers with utter disgust on their faces. The onlookers breathed out with relief, happy to finally see an end to the bitter war of attrition that had been the negotiation.

"I'll be taking those samples right away," Robbie said, pointing at him. "Don't you dare move! Granté! My surgical kit, a needle and syringe, and two vials!"

The Sheikah in question sighed. "Yes, father," he said, going to fetch the equipment.

Sheik looked at the man Robbie had (supposedly) spawned, raising an eyebrow. "Adopted, surely?" he in a surprisingly subtle voice.

"No," Robbie said, meeting Sheik's gaze steadily. "One hundred percent me."

"Fifty," Jerrin corrected gently, leaning in and lowering her voice. "He's not a clone, Robbie."

"If only," the psychopathic scientist said with a wistful sigh.

"I cannot comprehend the sheer horror of the idea of there being more than one of you," Sheik said, his stomach giving a particularly unpleasant lurch at the thought. "One gnome is more than enough."

Granté soon returned with Robbie's equipment, putting them on the desk. "Here, father," he said.

"There's three vials," Sheik said sceptically. "You trying to pull a fast one on me, Robbie?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, you...you—!"

"Master Sheik," Granté said, interrupting his father's sputtering tirade. "Might I trouble you for a vial of saliva? I have some analyses of my own that I would like to run, and it would very much help in my research." He bowed his head. "If it's no trouble, of course."

Sheik stared at the man in wonder. "You cannot possibly be Robbie's son. You're so polite. A little too grovelling for my taste, but...you know what? Sure. I'll spit in your vial. On the condition none of it goes to help the gnome."

"How dare you—"Robbie shouted, but Granté interrupted him once more.

"Agreed," he said, grinning.

"Betrayed!" Robbie shrieked. "Betrayed by my own flesh and blood!"

"No. Absolutely not. Fuck you."

"We agreed, boy. One tissue sample. You did not specify where from."

"What could you possibly learn from taking a sample of my ass as opposed to my, oh, I don't know, literally anywhere else?!"

"Stop shouting in my lab, please, and stop being hysterical. The buttocks are a meatier area on most people and as far as I can tell that appears to be the case with you as well. That means there is more tissue per sample. So, if you would be so kind—though I know that is an incredible struggle for you—and turn around and drop your trousers."

"I knew you were a perv, you old fuck! Just couldn't wait to get your hands on this, huh?!"

"My sole interest in your posterior is of a scientific nature, now get to it, please."

"So damn eager to look at it, huh? Fine, have at it! Get a good, long look, you disgusting pervert! You know what? You can even give it a kiss; I know that mouth-gaping look. Even better, you can eat it! Eat my ass, Robbie, and choke on it!"

"Hold still!"

"Ow!"

Robbie corked the vials filled with Sheik's blood (or whatever served the same purpose running through his veins) and carefully placed them in a rack. The petri dish filled with a thumbnail-sized chunk of flesh taken from Sheik's posterior was already placed under a nearby microscope, ready to be studied.

Sheik glared at the bastard, his ass still stinging. "I hope it gives you a disease," he muttered. "The flesh-eating kind."

"Oh, I'll be handling it with the utmost care," Robbie assured him. "No vectors of penetration here."

Sheik's entire body shuddered. "Never say that word again, old man, or I'll be forced to burn this entire lab to the ground. With you inside it!"

"Whatever you say, boy," Robbie said dismissively. "Run along. I have what I need. For now."

For some reason, the ominous way Robbie said that struck more fear into Sheik's being than the idea of facing Ganon on his own ever could. His freshly bandaged buttock gave a fearful twinge, and he couldn't even imagine what Robbie would do next. He vowed to sleep between Link and Sidon that night, just to be sure. The man was old, but he was still a Sheikah, and he did not trust Bazz's guards to keep Robbie out if he was determined enough.

"What about keeping your part of the agreement?" he shot back before his mind could generate any horrible scenarios (the ones that did pop up he already busy repressing) about Robbie's scientific interests. "The stone?"

"Over there," Robbie said, waving a hand with disinterest at what appeared to be a pile of random Sheikah tech scrap. "There's even an embedded battery I'll let you have for free. Not sure how much of a charge there is, though."

"So fucking gracious," Sheik mumbled, stalking over the pile and sorting through the junk (which meant making a general mess of Robbie's organisational system) until he spotted what he'd come to the lab to negotiate for.

The obelisk-shaped rock-like object had seen better days, its surface scarred and covered in scratches and small cracks, but as far as Sheik could tell it would still be functional provided he had the right inputs. Frankly, he was the only one who did.

"Do you need a cart to transport it in, Master Sheik?" Jerrin asked with a kind smile. "It is quite heavy, is it not?"

"Thanks, but no need," Sheik said, crouching down and, after wrapping his left arm around the stone, lifting it with barely any effort. "Turns out this arm is pretty damn strong, especially when I'm at full charge."

"Interesting," Robbie said from his perch, staring at Sheik with a look that could only be described as hungry. "I shall have to take a closer look at that next time. Are you sure there isn't something else you need?" he asked sweetly.

"Very sure," Sheik said, desperately wanting to be out of that man's visual range right fucking now. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but we both know I'd be lying." He headed for the door, but Robbie making a little humming sound froze him in his tracks. "What is it now?!" he hissed.

"Oh, nothing," Robbie said innocently, tapping his goggles in a way that was surprisingly infuriating. Then again, everything Robbie did was annoying in some way or another. He was like the personification of irritation. "I simply thought you'd be interested to know the progress on the reactor adapter."

Sheik sighed. "And what is the progress on the reactor adapter, o wise gnome?" he asked.

"Almost done, in fact," Robbie said. "Ready for its maiden test in a few days, I'd say."

Sheik glared at him. "I'm waiting for the catch."

"It certainly would go faster if I had some more blood—"

"We're done!" Sheik shouted, careful to avoid smacking Jerrin with the obelisk as he whirled around, nodding silently in gratitude to her for opening the door. "Don't bother me again until the adapter is done!"

Just before the door shut, he heard Robbie's annoyed grunt, and grinned.

I win.

Win what?

Just...in general, Stabby. I win at everything.

I'm not sure that's true, Sheik.

Careful, you little shit. I'm a winner, just you watch.

Stabby wisely decided to remain silent when Sheik stumbled over a high threshold and nearly dropped the obelisk on his foot.

Link entered Sidon's chambers and was satisfied to find them empty, giving a little sigh of a relief. Logically, he knew they would be vacant at this time of day, with Sidon being busy with his princely and military duties, and Sheik...well, Goddess knew what Sheik was up to. Honestly, leaving Sheik unattended was a bit unnerving because there was just no telling who he'd manage to aggravate or, worst case, piss off just by being himself.

But he couldn't count on Sheik being near all the time. Not anymore. And while Link was absolutely thrilled that Sheik got his wish and attained a body of his own, he kind of missed having the angry voice on his hip at all times, always ready to offer his point of view, regardless if it was wanted or not.

And honestly, Link thought it was high time that he stopped being so dependent on the Sheikah, if only so that he could hold his head high and pretend to be the Hero he was supposed to be. Fake it till you make it, and all that, as...someone had told him at some point. Link couldn't remember. But they were right. Hyrule needed its Hero now, and he couldn't wait for some cure to suddenly appear out of nowhere and turn him into that Hero.

He was the Hero, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

And it was time to start acting like it. And the first step to that was...well, setting something straight.

He made sure the doors were closed and locked, and the drapes drawn. No one needed to see or hear this. This was only for him and the sword on his back.

He drew the Master Sword, watched the pale blue light of the glowing corals on the walls play along the blade, turning into every colour of the rainbow, and then some. It was a beautiful display. The sword itself was beautiful, and Link had no idea why it had ended up in his hands. What on earth had possessed it to choose him, of all people?

Your bloodline.

He yelped, nearly dropping the sword as its—her?—words echoed in his head, unbidden. He managed to catch the sword before it dropped, holding it aloft with both hands, watching his face reflected in the metal.

Are you always listening to my thoughts? he wondered.

Our connection is broken when I am not in your possession, she answered. Which is a blessing, on certain nights.

There was an accusatory tone in the words that sounded and felt like they were bouncing off the inside of his skull. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but the hostility that had pierced his very soul was somewhat muted this time, unlike in the Korok Forest, where she'd criticised his performance as her chosen wielder. The accusation wasn't as...scathing, this time. More like a very pointed comment.

Oh, thank the Goddess for that, he thought. I'd rather you don't listen in when I'm...when I'm with...

Please do not finish that thought, I do not wish to know more than I already do about your relationships.

Right, sorry. Um...my bloodline?

Your bloodline, the Master Sword repeated, its tone sounding relieved. It possesses a...unique character.

What does that mean?

It is an impossible task to explain the history of Hylia, Hyrule, myself, and you in a timely manner, so I will simply say this: In all the time I have existed, the only heroes to wield me have been of your blood. Your flesh. Your soul. I will allow no others to bear me, to wield me. I am your weapon, from now till your death. When that happens, I will sleep and await the moment evil wakes once more...and for your hand to grip me once again.

Link released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. That was more information than he'd anticipated, and he wasn't sure if the sword herself was confused or just didn't understand the concept of family lines, because it almost sounded like she thought every wielder of the Master Sword was the same person.

I am more than aware of how lines of descent function, Hero, she said, sounding insulted. And I meant exactly what I said. How you interpret that is entirely up to you.

This really wasn't the direction Link had expected—or even wanted—the conversation to take.

Then say what it is you have to say.

No accusation this time, just...a statement. Waiting.

I'm done trying, he thought, sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs, still holding the sword, shifting it so it was lying across his knees. I'm just...done.

Done? You are the Hero. You cannot simply be done with trying. You gave a promise that you would keep trying until you lived up to the expectations, to the legacy.

She was angry now. Link felt the heat in her words, the impacts against his skull intensifying.

Are you telling me you are giving up? That is not an option, nor is it an acceptable notion for my wielder to even consider!

I'm not, though! I'm not giving up!

Then what are you trying to say? Your words make no sense, and your mind is nothing but chaos! You are impossible to read—do you understand how infuriating that is? I never know what to expect from you!

That's what I'm saying, Link thought, feeling his chest tighten and pulse quicken. He breathed calmly, though, reminding himself that he was currently in the safest place in all of Hyrule, and that there was absolutely nothing that could get to him here. It was just him in the room.

Well, him and a cantankerous sword. He'd probably be a lot more flabbergasted if he weren't already familiar with having angry, inanimate objects talking to him.

I was wrong the first time, he explained before the Master Sword could start again. But so were you.

What?!

The outrage felt like a migraine, but he pressed on.

I can't keep trying to be the Hero you expect me to be. Because that won't happen—I already proved that when I failed to stop Ganon the first time. Maybe that's why I failed the first time, because I kept trying to be the Hero you wanted me to be, instead of the Hero I was supposed to be.

You are not making sense.

Just let me finish! You said it yourself—I'm the last in a long line of wielders. I don't know what kind of people they were, or what kind of Heroes they ended up being. I can only be myself and do what I think is right! Tell me, am I doing something wrong as a Hero? Am I fighting on the wrong side? Do I stand for the wrong ideals? Is your judgement of me based on anything other than fighting ability? I'm standing against Ganon in the best way I can, and I think maybe what I've been doing wrong the whole time is that I've been trying so hard to be something I'm not. Because of what you and everyone else expects of me, of someone with the title of Hero.

He stared past the sword, at the tiled floor beneath him.

"I j-just want t-to be m-me," he spoke aloud. "Th-The Hero I th-think I should b-be. I w-will fight G-Ganon, but...it w-will b-be my way. N-Not yours, or anyone else's."

The Master Sword didn't speak again for a long time. It was probably silent for mere minutes, but they felt like hours. Link wasn't sure if his words had meant anything at all in the end, but he hoped the sword understood his feelings.

He was the Hero. He always would be. But he couldn't be any other Hero than himself. Striving to be like those who came before was folly and would simply lead to confusion and misery.

If you are to be a Hero in your own way, the sword finally spoke. There is but one thing I would ask.

"Wh-What is it?"

Stop dropping me.

It was probably the tension snapping, but Link couldn't contain the snort, which turned into a small laugh when the sword...it didn't say anything, but his head no longer felt like an empty, cold void. Instead it felt...warm. Soft, almost.

"I'll t-try," he promised.

No trying, she reminded him. Or did your words from before mean nothing?

"O-Okay, I w-won't drop y-you again. Ever. H-hero's honour!"

Very well. I shall hold you to that.

Link smiled. Maybe this was going to be all right after all...

And another thing, your suicidal strategy of throwing yourself into battle, blowing yourself up, getting yourself impaled, and then relying on poor Princess Mipha's healing magic to keep you alive is not acceptable. You will begin working on this immediately.

...or maybe not.

The early dawn at the Bazaar was a mess of activity as the military convoy prepared to head north-east to the pass that separated the Gerudo Desert from the rest of Hyrule.

From a distance, it might not have looked very impressive. Between their losses against the Yiga and the need to leave a certain number of warriors behind to protect the Bazaar and the city, Riju could field about three-hundred fighters, not counting the support and supply troops. Three hundred weren't a lot, but she knew for a fact that each Gerudo warrior was worth about ten of anyone else's.

The allies wouldn't find her troops lacking in ability, that was for damn sure! She'd show that uppity Sheikah just who was the finest warriors in Hyrule!

She finished her journal (not diary!) entry, putting the finishing touches on a sketch of her hitting Sheik upside the head with the Thunder Helm (which was safely locked in a chest with armed guards on one of the wagons) and put it into her bag. She was travelling light, despite her attendants' protests. She was heading into battle, not a diplomatic visit!

"My lady," Buliara said, peeking inside her tent. "We are ready to set out."

"Coming," Riju replied and stood up, her balance a little off because of the various pieces of armour she was wearing. Buliara had insisted, even for the trip itself, that she wore armour at all times save for when sleeping.

"There is no telling when an attack might occur. I will protect you with my life, my lady, but even I cannot account for everything."

It had taken a lot for Buliara to admit that, and Riju did not have the heart to say no, even if she did feel about as graceful and fast as a tortoise as she walked along the shore of the oasis, following Buliara as she led them to the front of the convoy. The air smelled of camels and dung, the terrain forcing them to rely on the four-legged animals instead of the sand seals.

She spotted Ayla ahead, who was talking to Barta and Kiro. The Yiga was wearing his Yiga uniform, though modified to make it clear that he was not an enemy, including Riju's family crest sewn onto the front of his chest. The last thing she needed was for him to be confused for the real enemy. He was also armed and carried a pack of supplies meant to last for quite a while in the harsh desert. A sand seal was nudging at his hip, probably trying to get at the treat in his pockets.

Speaking of...

Patricia gave a curious snort as she spotted Riju approaching her, her eyes filled with adoration. She snuffled her rider's legs curiously, giving the metal bits protecting Riju's shin an exploratory bite.

"Sorry I can't take you with me, girl," Riju said, softly petting Patricia's head. "You wouldn't like it up there anyway. I hear the ground's hard and full of rocks, and it rains all the time. You'd be miserable. Besides, I need you to look after Kiro for me. You know he'll get himself into trouble, even with Barta there."

Kiro and Barta weren't going with the convoy. Instead, they were heading in the opposite direction, deeper into the desert, in search of the Yiga who had been exiled by Kohga for not...well, not being evil enough, Riju supposed. Or kissing Ganon's ass enough. She wasn't entirely sure. Kohga had been going off the deep end anyway, towards the end, according to Kiro. His motives had been hard to discern, his thinking even more so.

"I resent that, my lady," Kiro said with a pout, overhearing her (not very) quiet conversation with her seal. "I can look after myself."

"Past experience contradicts that very much, little one," Barta said, ruffling his silver hair, much to his annoyance. "If it weren't for the Hero and Sheik, you'd be very dead. Twice over."

Ayla held up a jingling pouch. "I'm already running a betting pool on how quickly you both end up running for your lives out there. On average, they give you about two days before all hell breaks loose."

Kiro gaped, and Barta grunted with annoyance. "That is the most insulting thing I have ever heard—"

"Put me down for ten rupees on three days," Riju said, grinning.

"My lady!" Barta exclaimed.

"Fifteen on a week," Buliara added, pretending like she wasn't thoroughly amused.

"Right, ten from my lady on three, fifteen from Slagathor on seven," Ayla said, jotting it down in a little black book, which she stowed into the pouch on her belt. "You're pretty confident, Slaggy. At this rate, if you win, you'll walk away with the whole pot."

"Don't call me Slaggy," Buliara said with a glare. "If I win, I shall buy you a house somewhere in Hyrule so you can move there. And stay there. Indefinitely."

"Hurtful, Slaggy," Ayla said with a sniff. "That's hurtful."

"Good."

Riju shook her head and punched Kiro in the shoulder. It wasn't very hard, but the Yiga still flinched. So frail, these Sheikah boys.

"Got everything you need?" she asked.

"Er, y-yes," he said, nodding. "We've got supplies, and a fairly good idea of where to search first. I know the exiles set up a temporary camp west of the hideout—we'll start there." He hesitated. "I wanted to thank you, my lady."

Eh?

"For what?" she asked.

"For giving us a chance," Kiro said, scratching his neck nervously. "After everything the Yiga—we—have done to you and your people, you're still willing to let us gather what remains of our clan. I doubt most would be so...er...magnanimous."

Riju hadn't noticed, but Ayla, Barta, and Buliara were all suddenly occupied with various tasks. Ayla was counting the money in her pouch, Barta was adjusting the bridles on her own sand seal, and Buliara was...turned away, staring resolutely at the rising sun, no doubt burning her eyes.

"I think we've all suffered enough under Ganon's tyranny," Riju said. "What good does it do to keep fighting when we finally have a chance for peace? I'll never forgive Kohga for ordering my mother's death...but that was his action, not yours, nor that of those who were exiled." She smiled at him, giving him a slightly softer punch to the shoulder (that was how boys communicated, right?). "If your exiles are willing to talk, then so am I. So are we." She nodded to the Gerudo around them.

"Any talk of Ganon, though, and I'll punch 'em in the face," Ayla said, not looking up from her counting.

"I'll do it myself," Kiro said firmly. "We're done with serving evil."

Riju wanted to remind him that he hadn't actually confirmed this with the exiles yet, but his excitement at finding the remains of his clan was too palpable, and she didn't want to squash his optimism.

"Then I'll look forward to the meeting when I get back," she said, shaking his hand when he offered it.

Strange custom. Something about looking for hidden weapons in each other's sleeves, or something. Pointless, since she didn't have sleeves, and Kiro's suit was skin-tight all over. He couldn't hide anything under it even if he tried.

"Thank you, again," he said.

"You're welcome."

Silence fell over them. An awkward one. How was she supposed to end this conversation?

"All right, I think it's best we get on with it," Barta said, mercifully sweeping in from the side. "Kiro, we're losing daylight, and it's going to take us the better part of the day to reach the first possible site. My lady, I wish you the best of luck in the battle ahead."

"Not that she'll be fighting in it," Buliara muttered.

"Thank you, Barta. Look after Kiro, and make sure the Yiga know they are welcome to the negotiating table," Riju said. "I'll also let the Sheikah know what we're up to down here, so they're not blindsided."

"Um..."

Kiro looked apprehensive.

"Could you maybe not tell Sheik? At least not until we know if the others are willing to come back?"

"I'll...try?" she said slowly. "Are you afraid of him?"

"Aren't you?"

"Pfft, no," she snorted. "Sheik isn't scary, he's just a di—"

"My lady!"

"...dimwit," she finished lamely.

"Hmph," Buliara kept her eyes narrowed. "Better," she conceded.

"Right, we're off," Barta said, grabbing Kiro and tossing him over her shoulder and stomping off towards their seals, ignoring the boy's protests. "Good luck, my lady!"

Riju waved at her, and then turned to Ayla and Buliara. "I suppose it's time for us to leave too, then."

Ayla nodded, while Buliara looked hesitant. Riju knew why. Her bodyguard had tried to dissuade her from coming at all, from putting herself at risk. Riju wouldn't hear it, though. There was no way she was going to send her warriors to fight and possibly die on battlefield so far from home, while she sat here pretending everything was fine. No, she was going with them. She might not be participating in the coming battle directly, but she would stand with them nonetheless.

"All right!" Ayla announced, drawing the attention of everyone at the oasis. "Betting pool for Kiro and Barta's Disaster Venture is now closed! Everyone who didn't bet, tough shit! Get on your camels and get ready, 'cause we're heading out right now! Hup hup hup!" she clapped her hands and began ordering bewildered warriors about.

"She does know she's not the commander, right?" Buliara asked.

"As long as we get moving, I'm fine with this," Riju said, looking up at her bodyguard. "Hey, Buliara?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"It's going to be fine. You know that, right?"

Buliara's gaze softened. "I wish I could say yes, my lady. What I do know, however, is that I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what happens."

"Let's go then," Riju said, bumping her fist against Buliara's. "Let's show the Hylians how to fight."

"It'll be a valuable lesson for them, my lady."