Author's Notes:

While I stick very closely to the HTTYD movie/TV show lore, I take liberties with the LoZ elements. Please read with an open mind, as if this were a new game.

New chapters on Wednesdays. The whole thing, 30 chapters plus Prologue, is written and will be posted!

The waxing moon floated high in the sky as Impa limped along the rocky cliff. The barren plateau, though a sheer cliff on one side, had once been a place of pilgrimage to see the magnificent statue of the goddess Hylia. Her kind eyes had watched over this region since her likeness was carved out of the cliff centuries ago, at least that's what the Hylians told themselves. Bouquets of Silent Princess and other offerings had adorned the foot of the statue even in the harsh winter months, the blue and white star-shaped flowers dotting the snowscape. How many pilgrims had fallen ill or worse from making those treks to a stone statue?

Impa gingerly let herself down beside the river rushing over the edge, wincing as she kept her left leg straight. She unwrapped the scrap of fabric around her leg and scrubbed it in the clear mountain water. The dry blood was still fresh enough to easily be washed out. Apparently, she was a little rusty after three years of hiding, she admitted with a grimace.

Her impassive face betrayed none of the frustration that had been festering since that afternoon. Exhaustion and pain she could deal with. If she was being honest, she never felt more alive than in a fight. But this was different. There was too much at stake to waste time on a wild cucco chase like this. It was touching the way Link held onto hope for the princess, the way some believe for those who disappear at sea or in the mountains. It reminded her how young he still was—young and naive. He was still only a child, after all. He was fourteen when he was called, older than most of the heroes, but still. She had personally overseen much of his training. From Death Mountain to the Gerudo Desert, from Lake Hylia to Zora's Domain, she had been his rear guard. And now, he was out there on his own.

She squeezed out the bandage and looked for a safe place to rest. Though naturally her desire was to push through the night and finish this quest as quickly as possible, the importance of rest had been a lesson—one of many lessons—that Master Jin had patiently beaten into her head. Looking around, the barren plateau stretched for miles without shelter. Her best chance of hiding lay before her.

Rewrapping the bandage, she limped toward the back of the enormous statue, threading around one of the smashed remains of Hylia's wings. It seemed Ganon's forces had been at work even in this remote place. What remained of Hylia's head cast a strong shadow in the moonlight. Impa scrutinized the face of the goddess—frozen in the lifeless cliff behind her—and a bitter question rose in the warrior's heart. Do we only raise children to fight wars for gods? She shouldn't think such a thing, yet it nagged at her like water rotting a pier.

As Impa approached the statue, the moonlight caught a wisp of blue and white. She caught her breath. Tucked into the rocks and tied with a fraying lilac ribbon was a tiny bouquet of Silent Princess. Where had these come from? The wildflower had died out even before Ganon invaded. She brushed the delicate petals. They were soft and strong; the stems barely showed signs of withering. Some faithful pilgrim had not only guarded some small remnant of Silent Princess but also had made the dangerous trek to this site, recently. Her eyes grew misty. These were a relic of lost times, of better times. Like herself.

Taking a seat on the ground, Impa set her sword nearby and pulled out the spare map Link had given her. Wearily, she crossed out another name, bringing the total to eleven shrines checked. Nine remained.

She rested her head against the statue, and immediately felt the toll of the day draining her strength. Her mind shared none of the weariness and seemed to only get more energized. What if Link was ambushed? Or trapped? Or defenseless?

She closed her eyes and forced the air slowly past her lips. He has health potions, she thought with some bit of relief. That was all she could do for him now. That, and hope that he would find answers from the Sage. It was pointless to conjecture further.

Her thoughts spun to the artifact they had found that morning. The voice had been clear: Go to the shrine. They did, and they found the bracer. Somehow, that was their answer. But what did it mean? Who was that boy? He seemed as clueless as them about the bracer, so how could he help? What if the Sage didn't know anything either? Had she sent Link on the wrong path? What if—

Impa opened her eyes to escape her thoughts only to be bombarded by another disturbance. A thousand points of light greeted her in the cloudless sky, and a melody long repressed tried to rise.

Underneath the stars you met me

Before the heartbreak could overtake her, she batted it away and buried it deep; she would not let herself go there again.

She needed to rest. She focused on her breath. In... out... In... out... In—

A chittering nearby snagged her attention. She groaned. A squirrel that was more tail than body stared up at her with eyes larger than the moon.

"What?"

The squirrel chittered, then scrambled up the rocky face and began nibbling on the blue and white petals.

"Stop!" Impa lurched up and snatched the flowers away. The squirrel cocked his head, sniffed at her, and chittered again.

Impa rolled her eyes and sighed. "Here, have this." She tossed a piece of cracker on the ground. The squirrel bounded to the morsel and gobbled it in a matter of seconds.

Impa looked at the flowers clutched in her hand. Her reaction surprised her. These were just flowers, after all... Or were they? Now that she thought about it, Link had pointed out that first the flowers had disappeared, then the fairies, then finally the fountains had dried up. And all of that happened months before Ganon invaded. Impa shook her head; it was probably just coincidence.

Gently, the Shiekah set the flowers back in a cleft of the rocks and forced herself to bow. She would not lose her way, not like the others.

A voice whispered in her mind. But is Hylia even watching?

Of course! she snapped. Impa internally berated herself: if she doubted, she'd be no better than a traitor.

... But where has she been?

Impa staunchly crossed her arms and closed her eyes, seeking respite once more by shutting out distractions, and once more, the nagging thoughts persisted. Nine more shrines to go. That will take a few days. Days without her to protect him. Bulblins, shadow beasts, other monsters, and Yiga were on the move, not to mention natural dangers. What if he ran into a Lynel? Even Link admitted it was luck that he survived his encounter with one. What if it rained and he was trapped in a canyon?

The sky above, the statue at her back, even her thoughts roared for her attention. What about this place? Was she safe? If she was captured or killed, would Link be able to carry out his mission? Hyrule would fall completely. Ganon would destroy her beautiful country and—

Something touched her leg. Instinctually she reached for her sword as her eyes snapped open. It was the squirrel, leaning its front paws on her leg. Impa snorted. It cocked its head at her, then jumped into her lap, curled into a tiny ball, and began to purr.

Impa choked on a smile. Cautiously, she cupped her hand around its back. She could nearly fit its whole body in the palm of her hand. She felt its heartbeat ramp up as her fingers brushed along its spine. It trembled; then yawned so wide its ears went flat against its head. Stretching its tiny paws forward, it adjusted its position and went back to sleep.

Impa continued stroking the wiry fur. The rumble from the little, warm body quieted her thoughts. Her eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed.

A moment later, a tiny black bird flew overhead. It soared over the waterfall, ignorant that the rush could sodden and destroy its delicate paper wings, and turned northward. If Impa had seen it, she would have done everything in her power to stop it. If she had known its destination, she would have followed with vengeance giving swiftness. But she was already asleep in the shadow of the goddess.

/

The crimson tent reeked with the nauseating smell of burned flesh. Metal lanterns hung on intersecting wooden poles in the corners of the spacious tent, but most of the light emanated from the small stove that sat in the corner. On one side of the stove sat a simple metal bucket filled with water and on the other sat a man. His shirt and shoes had been removed, and bright red marks dotting his arms and chest were already beginning to blister like dozens of tiny blinking eyes. The soles of his feet were blackened and cracked like bread left too long in the oven. His limp head rested on his chest, his breathing shallow. He didn't react when the man holding the glowing metal brand before him finally spoke.

"Tanelope Shrine," he mused again. "The Yiga clan thanks you." An uncomfortable silence hung in the sickening air.

One of the two guards, their faces hidden behind their infamous pale masks, grabbed the prisoner by the hair and jerked his head back. "The Captain addressed you," the clansman hissed.

The prisoner coughed as blood dribbled down his split lips and shuddered as the Captain plunged the glowing brand into the bucket, drawing screams from the water as mercilessly as it had done from him. The Captain didn't seem to notice; he was already reaching for one of the many rolls of parchment stacked neatly along the wall. He nodded toward the prisoner. "Drop him along the road."

The two clansmen grabbed him by the arms. "B-but," the prisoner stammered. "The wolves..."

The Captain's pale mask shifted slightly, the red inverted-eye etched into the white surface gleamed like blood. "Would you prefer the alternative?" His gloved hand moved to rest on the hilt of the great black sword hanging at his waist. Even within the sheath, it swirled with a red mist. The prisoner stiffened and his eyes went wide before the two clansmen hauled him out into the darkness.

As soon as the flap closed behind them, the Captain ripped off the pale mask and clasped his hand over his mouth. He wanted to wretch, but there were clansmen on duty all about the camp. Grabbing the bucket, he tossed the brand onto the ground, took a mouthful of water, and immediately spat it out. He could taste it; the past two hours—the tears, the blood, the charred flesh—everything.

Setting the bucket back on the ground, he wiped his mouth with the back of his crimson sleeve. In time he could rinse taste away, but he could never be rid of the prisoner's cries as it joined the anguished chorus in his mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. How many more? How many more innocents would he have to sacrifice?

A low voice inquired from outside the tent. "Captain?"

The Captain wiped his eyes and quickly reattached his mask. Rolling back his shoulders, he said, "Enter."

A gloved hand pulled back the flap, and a black paper bird streaked across the tent, landing on the map on the desk. Immediately, its wings stilled. "It just arrived," the clansman reported, stepping inside and allowing the flap to close behind him.

The Captain unfolded the black paper, his eyes scanning the message from behind his mask. Suddenly, he clutched the paper with both hands. His low voice was urgent. "We break camp now."

"Now... Sir?"

The Captain was already bundling parchments. "You heard me," he growled.

The clansman poked his head outside the tent and barked orders. Within moments, the dozing camp erupted with dozens of scurrying feet lighting torches and collapsing tents. Closing the flap behind him, he asked, "What's different this time?"

The Captain didn't slow his frantic pace. He'd been waiting for this opportunity for years; he wasn't about to squander it. "The Hero is alone."

The clansman tilted his head. "She's not with him?"

"We have to find her before Vabblin does."

The clansman leaned back on one leg. "With all due respect," he asserted slowly, "she won't listen to you."

The Captain paused, his voice low. "I know, but I have to try."

Author's Notes:

CREDIT TO INKBOY (I think?) for the quote "Do we only raise children to fight wars for gods?" /picture/do-we-only-raise-children-to-fight-wars-for-gods-j8NIU1tv7

CREDIT TO KATE RUSBY AND VOCES8 for the lyrics "Underneath the Stars". It's beautiful; give it a listen! watch?v=tORuEdknbWI

Did you find my Star Wars reference? (yes, Master Jin, looking at you :P)

Thanks to Ari Lewis, ValiantQueenLu, and Luke for beta reading!