LOVE IN A TIME OF CALAMITY

Part 3: Letting Go
Chapter 22: Secrets and Subterfuge

A/N: Yeah, back on it with the regular updates, woo! That's my goal-to try and publish a chapter a week, even if its not all from the same story. For those not following me elsewhere, I have a steamy threesome fic lined up for the second week of February, and I'm working on a Barbarian Link semi-AU fic (completion is probably quite a ways off but its coming along FABULOUSLY). I've got a sneak peek on my Tumblr, and I've updated my FFnet profile, so details on my Tumblr page/twitter account/AO3 profile, etc. are there. Here's this week's chapter-enjoy, folks, and don't forget to leave a review!

Traysi pulled her cloak tighter around her as a gust whipped across the bridge, blowing her hood back. Hurriedly she pulled a shivering arm out from the warm confines of the woolen fabric and reached around to pull it back over her head. The full moon cast the land in sharp relief, and though it was unlikely the few survivors from the village would be about this time of night, let alone crossing the Carok Bridge, she wasn't about to take any chances.

Ahead the skull cave began to take shape in the shadows of the Breach. She was close. If the rumors proved to hold any water, any at all, this would be… huge. Bigger, maybe, than even her account of the battle for Hyrule. It had been generations since any significant political misdeeds—the Hyrules were generally rule followers; but every hot streak must end some time.

As her feet traded sturdy wood for dusty earth, her heart began to beat harder against her chest. This was it—the moment of truth. Giddy excitement welled within her, adding a skip to her step—but she quickly stamped it out. Pausing briefly in her stride, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Calm down, Traysi! Overeagerness will only lead to mistakes. Keep your head! Picking up her feet again she walked forward with greater calm, clutching the note with the meeting location and date tightly in her chilled fingers.

As the mouth of the cave loomed, she could see a faint green glow emanating from within. Clearing her throat, she stepped into the shadows and lowered her hood.

"Hello?" she called softly, heart thumping in contrast to her even tones. Her eyes darted quickly around the dark cave before settling on the source of the dim light: three sunset fireflies, trapped in a jar resting on the dirt floor. Clever.

Neither seeing nor hearing any response, she tried again, louder this time. "Hello? Is anyone in here? I'm the reporter from the Rumor Mill."

Slowly, a face began to appear from out of the shadows on the opposite wall, bathed in the green glow of the bottled fireflies as the individual moved towards the center of the room. Squinting, she could make out a clean-cut middle-aged man, but not much more could be determined from where she stood by the mouth of the cave. Slowly, he smiled—a gesture which unexpectedly unnerved her as he lifted a hand to beckon her forth, speaking in a raspy voice.

"Ah, yes, I've been waiting. Come."

Cautiously, Traysi stepped forward towards the bottle, pulling forth her journal and pen from a pouch at her waist. Once she was standing across from him over the light of the fireflies, she summoned her courage and dove in, speaking in a professional clip.

"I was told you may have information regarding the King. I have heard several rumors that not all is as it seems, and that the official statement may not be true."

He chuckled, lifting a hand to rub his chin with deliberate slowness.

"Right to the point, eh? Well then. Yes… yes, I do."

His tone seemed to change to one of concern as he lowered his voice and peered momentarily out the mouth of the cavern. Traysi leaned forward, trying to disguise her eagerness as she began her questioning.

"First things first, then. Who are you, and on what authority do you make your claims?"

He eyed her with a touch of humor. "I'd rather keep my name to myself if its all the same to you; but you can call me Charlie. I'm a butler in the castle, and my claims are not simply claims, but the truth—and I have the documents to prove it."

Traysi arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? Well… Tell me—why have we seen neither hide nor hair of the king in over a month? Such a length of time would surely indicate he is far more seriously injured than the castle's statement would have us believe. What has happened to the King? And why is the council so eager to obfuscate the truth?"

Charlie leaned closer, speaking in a whisper.

"The King is far more seriously injured than the castle would have you believe. The King is in a coma, and his chances of recovery are slim to none. Personally I think the council has been holding on to a hope against hope that he will wake, but the castle healers have all but said such a possibility is unlikely at this point."

Traysi dropped her pen, her jaw dropping as she stared at "Charlie" with wide eyes. Comatose! Few methods existed to treat such an ailment. He may as well be dead! But what did this mean? Why hide it? Why not just crown the Princess and be done with it? Were they hiding something? Trying to cover something up?

But before she could voice her questions, Charlie pulled forth a rolled scroll from the inside of his cloak, extending it forward.

"That is a page from the recorded minutes of the council meeting in which their course of action was decided. Of particular interest to you are these paragraphs," He then indicated to several points along the document. "I can't let you keep it, of course, but feel free to peruse."

Still reeling, Traysi reached forward, unrolling the paper and kneeling to better read it by the dim light of the fireflies. The royal seal was stamped at the top, and cramped cursive covered the page.

"…blow to the head has rendered him comatose…"
"…tried many of our most reliable methods…"
"…do not know if or when he will ever wake…"
"…unknown what condition his mind will be in if he does…"
"…Princess will need several more weeks before achieving full recovery…"
"…keep this official change in leadership publicly unofficial…"
"…nearly one quarter of fighting forces and half of the military leadership lost…"
"Hyrule Military without a General…"
"Security for the Princess of utmost concern…"

… …

Shit! Things were a lot worse than anyone knew. Her head was spinning with each new revelation. This went so much deeper than just the King—the whole kingdom was hanging by a thread.

"I… but—why? Why would the council lie? Why…"

"They do have some reasonable concerns," Charlie explained, "They're worried about revealing the depth of Hyrule's weakness to potential enemies, and worried about keeping order when there are so many desperate refugees and so few soldiers to keep the peace." He quirked an eyebrow, speaking conspiratorially, "But, honestly, I think what they're really all concerned about is the Princess."

Traysi gawped. "The Princess? What… what about her?"

"Well… she's young. She's inexperienced. Until now she's largely been a figurehead, entirely focused on awakening her power. She's got little formal training in politics and law, and she's just had a wrecked kingdom handed to her and been told to fix it. The Council is worried—and I am too—that she can't do the job. But she's all we've got, short of a revolution, and I certainly don't want that."

Leaning forward once more, Charlie reached out and and gently plucked the scroll from Traysi's loose grasp as she continued to stare in disbelief at her informant. This was… way more than she'd bargained for.

"The Kingdom is in dire straits and though the Princess is well intentioned, she's just… not enough, at least on her own. The council is guiding her and we all know what a bunch of crackpots are on the council; they're going about this all wrong. They shouldn't have lied to the people about their King, for starters. That sort of secrecy fosters a toxic political environment and threatens to ruin any trust between the people and the monarchy. They should have crowned her as soon as it became clear the King was not likely to recover.

"And secondly, the council should be pushing the Princess to marry, not organize funerals, as lovely as it was. Though there are few eligible suitors her age, there are some—Lord Freder Lynnhurst, for example. She needs someone to share the burden of leadership with—someone more experienced, and she needs to continue her line lest, Goddess forbid, something should happen to her. And something is a lot more likely to happen to her with Hyrule's military in the state its in."

Traysi gaped for several moments after Charlie finished his raspy screed, before snapping her mouth shut and attempting to compose herself.

"Well, that's… quite a lot. But if you don't mind my asking…" Traysi narrowed her eyes as she considered her informant over the light of the fireflies. "How did a simple castle butler come to be so… well versed in politics?"

Instead of becoming defensive as she'd anticipated, Charlie merely laughed, "I'll say one thing—I'm no spring chicken. I've been in service to the castle a long time. You learn a thing or two along the way."

Still, she was skeptical. It must have shown on her face because Charlie's humor was quickly replaced by exasperation.

"Look—I'm committing an offense that risks life imprisonment and possible execution; and the reason why is because I care for Hyrule and am worried a foolish council will steer an inexperienced monarch in the wrong direction. No one seems to have the mind to do anything about it, since they're all worried about other things—and understandably so, there's a lot going on. I'm merely hoping that maybe some pubic scrutiny will spur the Princess and the Council towards a better course of action. She needs a crown and a husband—that is what the council should be focusing on right now, not this wishy-washy political feel-goodery."

Traysi eyed her informant critically over the faint green glow of the fireflies. His story seemed solid… and the document was genuine for sure. Even if he had an ulterior motive, the facts were on paper—and that was, at the very least, something she could make use of.

"Alright, Charlie." Pulling out her notebook and pen, she flipped to a blank page and gestured to him. "Let's start again from the beginning."

Charlie smiled.

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Almost an hour later he watched her go, cloaking himself in shadow as he released a heavy sigh. Once she was out of sight he stepped away from the mouth of the cave, back into its dark interior, leaning heavily against the stone wall as he released his hold on the magic which hid him. In a puff his hair turned from graying, curly brown to smooth silver, his eyes from bright green to dark gray. He was dressed once more in his Sheikah Garb, and his clothing weighed heavily upon his frame—a reminder of his duty, and the manner in which he had betrayed it.

Goddess, he didn't want to do this anymore; he didn't want to be this kind of person, anymore.

Pulling on a silver chain around his neck, he drew forth a large circular locket from beneath his clothes. Slipping his finger along the catch, he popped it open, angling the locket's interior to catch the faint moonlight. Three smiling faces shone up at him. On one side, a minute painting of a beautiful young Sheikah woman, smiling with unreserved kindness, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges. On the other, a painting of two young girls, one of them two and a half years, the other barely over six months. The older held the younger with the joyful pride of a recently-minted older sibling, arms tightly wrapped around the chubby infant who gazed at the painter with wide, curious eyes.

His eyes lingered on the young woman, feeling a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Arame," he whispered, running a finger along the side of the frame. He had failed her, and he'd never felt more ashamed of that fact than he did right now. She had always seen the best in him, even when he'd been a member of the Yiga. She'd never lost faith in the man she believed he could be. It was because of her—her strength and her faith—that he'd had the courage to leave the clan, even under threat of death.

Dorian had spent three joyful years in Kakariko with her, striving to leave that past behind. He had taken up a job as a member of the village guard—following a path of goodness and service to his community in an effort to make up for the faults of his youth—to be the man she believed he could be, the man she deserved. She had born him two beautiful daughters, Koko and, not long after, Cottla—and his little family had become the center of his universe. For a while, everything had been perfect. Life had been a dream.

And then he'd awoken—and reality had devastated him.

The Yiga had found him and his family. One night on patrol around the edge of the village, he'd sensed a Yiga footman hiding in the shadows, and with shaking hands gripping his Katana had called him forth. He'd appeared, laughing, demanding his return to the Yiga clan. Dorian had refused, had charged him, making to kill the man before he could escape—but it was too late. With a last laugh, he'd whispered, "So be it…" and disappeared.

That morning as he'd returned to the village at the end of his shift, eager to hold his family and reassure himself everything would be okay—they could move, he could change his name, just keep running until the Yiga couldn't find them. But before he could get home, they head of the village guard pulled him aside and broke the news. A Sheikah woman had been found hanging by the neck from a tree in the woods. They had ruled it an apparent suicide, as there had been no evidence of a struggle, no other wounds upon the body. A part of him knew, the moment he'd been pulled aside, but it didn't truly hit him till they said her name. "Dorian, I'm so sorry—It's Arame…"

He had gone to pieces, then.

No one else knew, but he did. It wasn't a suicide, it was a murder. It had been the Yiga, punishing him for deserting their ranks. But what could he do—what could he say? No one knew of his past, and none could know. So, despite the pain and the insult of it, he'd let them all think she'd died by her own hand.

He didn't know what to tell his girls. Koko was old enough, she seemed to understand, if her mournful eyes and hollow voice were any indication. But Cottla… she was too young, and the concept of death was lost on her. She kept asking when Momma would be home, and where she had gone. It had taken every last ounce of his strength not to break down at her innocent queries, but instead tell her softly, "Momma's not coming home, sweetheart."

In the weeks after her death he was plagued with paranoia, fearing the Yiga's return at every footstep and in every shadow. Would they come for his girls next? Would they come for him? He quit his job as a member of the village guard, so he could stay up night after night to watch over his girls as they slept, unaware of the danger they could be in. He was falling apart, he knew it—even the townsfolk had started to notice, though they chalked it up merely to grief. And then, finally, after three weeks of this vigil, they came.

He felt them in the shadows, two of them—foot soldiers. Like before he called them forth, and they appeared, arms crossed in amusement as they took in his exhausted, rumpled appearance.

"Have you had enough? Are you ready to return to the clan?"

"Never," he'd spat.

"We will kill your children next," they responded tauntingly, "We will keep going, until there is nothing left to keep you here."

"I won't let you," he'd growled, but their words had pierced him like ice through his heart. He couldn't keep this up—he was exhausted, and he needed to work as they were running out of money, yet he couldn't bear to let his girls out of his sight for fear they too would be taken from him. And the Yiga knew this—knew they need only wait.

They laughed. "This was your last chance. You will see us again…"

And then they disappeared, and he dissolved into sobs on the floor, his Katana hitting the ground with a clatter.

Another week came and went, and he found himself on the verge of collapse. He was horrendously sleep deprived, seeing phantom visions and hearing phantom sounds, scarcely able to tell reality from dream. He was still grieving over the loss of his beloved, unable to hold back his anguished sobs when the lonely nights and his empty bed became too much.

And then, one day when he felt certain he could take no more, salvation came. A nobleman passed through town—a young man named Freder—who had somehow come to know of his plight. He offered him a deal: his service for the protection of his children. In exchange for his unquestioning loyalty and discretion, he would not only pay him handsomely for services to his family, but secure him a job in the castle guard and provide two nannies, one for each of his daughters—both well educated and trained in the art of combat and self defense—to care for and guard his girls in Kakariko. Desperate, he agreed, feeling as though, finally, the Goddesses were smiling upon him.

It had been a Devil's bargain.

At first things had been good. He'd been given a job as a member of the Sheikah royal guard, and after several months of training, he began his duties. He enjoyed his work, even if he missed Koko and Cottla terribly; but he felt reassured knowing they were taken care of and in good hands. The nannies had proven wonderful, and he received almost daily letters from the girls telling him about all the things they were learning from the village tutor, and the new recipes Koko was working to create—just like her mother. On his time off, he would return to Kakariko to visit with them, and for a while it felt as though, perhaps, he could finally put it all behind him.

But this peace was not to last. It started innocuously, things that at first didn't seem like such offenses—favors, almost, for the man who had offered him such salvation. Freder wanted to know how things were going in the castle—about the Princess, about the other council members, about the King. He asked about the latest gossip, things he may have overheard while on duty in the halls. It seemed… perhaps odd, but not outrightly wrong. But his requests began to slowly escalate, become more sinister. He was asked to spread false rumors, intentionally eavesdrop on officials, relay confidential security plans… When Freder finally requested he steal a document from the King's study, he put his foot down. He had not fought so hard to leave the Yiga—to become a better man—only to begin a new life of crime somewhere else.

When next Freder came to the castle, he arranged a discreet meeting in the docks, and confronted him about his illicit requests.

"I did not agree to become a criminal!" He hissed, hands clenched at his sides, "Any other work—honest work—I am happy to do. But not this!"

Freder only eyed him cooly. "If you are displeased with our arrangement, I can always terminate your employ and recall your daughter's nannies—I cannot, however, assure that you will keep your position in the Royal guard… and of course, I cannot assure you that your daughters will be safe from the Yiga." He smirked as Dorian's face paled, knowing full well he had won.

Dorian didn't refuse his requests after that.

Almost as though the Gods were taunting him for his foolishness, Freder's demands quickly got worse. He obeyed them all, each time trying to justify to himself that his daughters' safety was worth the moral sacrifice. Slowly but surely, he began to see exactly what it was he had become, and why Freder had shown up when he had: he was a spy—Freder's spy—within the castle. He had used him, sought him out—a desperate man willing to sell his soul for peace of mind and a shred of safety—and offered him a deal he couldn't refuse.

It was a smooth system of corruption and deception. He provided Freder with information, and Freder used this information to set into motion his own schemes and plots, utilizing Dorian's unique stealth abilities as a Sheikah and ex-Yiga to do so. He stole documents, planted rumors and ideas, manipulated the staff, worked into the confidences of officials to gather information… So slowly that he almost hadn't realized it, he was back where he started. Though he wasn't a member of the Yiga clan anymore, he was doing just as much ill. Freder was not a good man; who knew how many people he was hurting doing his bidding?

He snapped the locket shut, tucking it back under his shirt with a determined furrow of his brow. This latest scheme was the last straw. He was now helping Freder meddle in affairs that would affect the future of Hyrule, and the future of the Princess herself. It was obvious what Freder was trying to do—position himself as the most likely suitor when the time came.

He had loved his wife with all his heart; she had been his light and his strength—his whole world. He would not push an evil man into the Princess' life—would not be the reason she got stuck in a painful, loveless marriage. After everything she had been through, she above all deserved to know the happiness he had so fleetingly felt with Arame.

Most of all, though, he would not put a tyrant on Hyrule's throne.

He had done enough damage, had fallen far enough into Freder's inner circle that he could use his knowledge as leverage to escape their bargain. He would think of something, some way to protect Koko and Cottla. If he had to wax his body, stuff his chest, and pretend to be a woman to hide with his girls in the renowned safety of Gerudo Town, he would. This couldn't go on. He would be the man Arame always believed he could be. He would not let her down any longer.

With hardened eyes and a set jaw he pulled away from the wall, walking towards the center of the room to grab the jar of fireflies. With a puff, Dorian disappeared, the dim light of the fireflies fading, leaving the cave once more in darkness.

A/N: Well, if you didn't already hate Freder, I bet you REALLY hate him now!

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Review Responses:

aso83: Yay, thank you! Wanted to get some interpersonal growth goin' there in that last chapter. And I'm with you, long stories are the best! Which is why I'm writing one, lol.

Ania Nicole: Aw shucks :3

kansa: Thank you!

bleachjenlove: Thank you! I actually did a lot of research throughout the game and in the Zelda Wiki and Hyrule Historia to get some of these references and places and such nailed down (and of course, some creative liberties of my own). I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

WaqueKoala 2.0: *hug*