Well I realize that for the last two chapters, I didn't have any disclaimer! So here it is now...
I don't own Zelda or any of its related characters or concepts. All that belongs to Shigeru Miyamoto-sama. I am not worthy...
Anyway, here's Chapter 3. Read and review, please!
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Promise
A month passed. I waited faithfully for a sign of my young hero, the one I appointed to find the other two Spiritual Stones. No sign came, but I did not lose hope. Patience, after all, was a virtue of a great queen.
Little did I know that I was not to see him again...until after that night.
I remember that night well. That was the night I composed the song that would later be christianed the Prelude of Light. I always had a talent with music -learning from the greatest music teachers in the kingdom had helped, of course- and composing music was one of my hobbies. Nothing too long; no great, echoing symphonies or that such. Just a tune here and there, a pretty little thing I made up within minutes.
I sat on my bed with the Ocarina of Time in my hands, already dressed for bed, with candles burning to the quick on my nightstand. I was admiring the fine instrument, a royal family heirloom entrusted to my care just after my eighth birthday. Light flickered over its glossy surface, and I sighed with pleasure. Bringing it to my lips, I played a slow chord. The uneartly, pure music swirled through my bedchamber.
I listened until I could hear not an echo, then brought the ocarina to my lips once more and played a quick string of random notes. The cheerful notes danced through the air, bringing a happy smile to my face.
"Pretty," I said to no one in particular, and jotted down the notes I had just played on a sheet of parchment, referring to nothing but memory.
I folded that paper and stuck it in a pocket of my nightdress, then sighed and decided I had better go to bed. I padded to the window to open it first, to let some air cool the stuffy heat in my room. I frowned as fresh air swirled past me. What was the acridic odor?
Wood smoke?
The door to my bedchamber flew open behind me, striking the wall with a loud thud. I whirled, a hand pressed to my heart, and saw Impa standing in the threshhold, bearing a long dagger stained with fresh blood. Her hair was mussed and a long, red mark was present on one forearm. Her expression was as calm as ever, but her crimson eyes held a gleam so savage that it took my breath away.
"We must leave, Zelda," Impa said, her cool, calm voice cutting through my entrancement. "Ganondorf lit the south tower on fire and is now attempting to find you. Your father and his warriors are holding him off."
"What?!" I shrieked. "That's not- that can't be right! You must be mistaken, Impa!"
"There is no mistake," Impa said, "nor is there any time to debate it. Come now, please."
"But Father-"
"Your father ordered me to get you out of the castle while there is still time. Let's go."
My gaze darted wildly left and right, as if seeking some form of salvation. I was terrified, and I did not want to leave my home. My heart hammering wildly in my chest, I faced Impa and shook my head emphatically.
"No. We'll stay here and fight Ganondorf. We'll...we'll help Father. That's an order."
Impa's eyes flashed. Shoving the dagger into a sheath at her belt, she stalked to me, clamped an iron hand around my wrist, and literally dragged me out. Dragged me through corridors, down stairs, past shrieking people darting left and right. I fought her the entire way.
It was not long before I realized that I still held the Ocarina of Time tightly in one hand, and shoved it into a pocket of my nightdress to keep it safe. "Impa," I said breathlessly, "the ocarina...the Sacred Realm..."
Impa ignored me. Nothing would stop her now. She hoisted me up as we reached the Great Foyer, her blood-red eyes scanning the teeming mass of panicked palace inhabitants. Shoving, shouldering, and elbowing, she fought her way through the crowd, carrying me on one shoulder.
A white horse, saddled and ready, waited for us at the palace gates. Impa threw me across the saddle and quickly mounted behind me. She kicked the horse into a gallop and we flew, away from the palace, down the road and through the castle town, pausing for nothing. Hoovebeats hammered like thunder in my ears. Rain poured down in icy sheets; jagged strips of lightning tore through the dark, stormy sky.
Someone had thoughtfully opened the drawbridge. We raced across it and out into Hyrule Field. And then I saw him; the young boy named Link, the one I had ordered to find the stones, watching us pass with a mix of shock and horror on his face.
Then I did something that confuses me to this very day. I yanked the Ocarina of Time from my pocket, twisted in Impa's hold, and threw it to Link. My aim was off -it landed in the moat- but I knew Link had seen it.
Why did I throw the ocarina to Link? I'll never know the answer. It would have been safer with me. It would have prevented disaster. But perhaps I was guided by something higher, something that understands the intricaties of destiny far better than I ever will.
Impa rode on, without ever once looking back. My precious ocarina now in Link's hands, I turned away and grimly resigned myself to an unknown fate.
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At dawn I awoke not in my warm, comfortable bed, but in the jostling seat of a hard leather saddle, riding an avalanche of a horse. The sun was rising behind a blanket of gloomy gray clouds. Rain was still drizzling as it had all night long; I was soaked to the bone and freezing. Dropping the facade of princessish dignity, I began to cry. Who was around to see me? Only Impa, and she would never mention the shame of my weakness.
Impa wasn't talking at all. Once this realization hit me, I twisted around with difficulty (Impa had an arm of iron wrapped around my waist) to look up at her face. She stared wide-eyed at the road ahead, lips pursed tightly. Two tracks cut through the grime on her face, evidence of small tears shed.
She was actually afraid.
This, in turn, frightened me. I was used to thinking of Impa as the strongest person in the world, afraid of nothing.
Again, I began to cry. "You told me Sheikah are fearless," I accused through my sobs.
Impa's eyes flickered to me; they were actually gentle. "For centuries, Sheikah had nothing to care about but clan. Even within clan, it was still every man for himself. Sheikah were above ties like family and friends. They knew better. But that changed with time, as things do. The day the Sheikah became the Royal Protectors...that is the day that Sheikah first knew fear."
"But fearless, Impa...what is fearless?" I whispered. "How do I achieve it?"
Impa looked at me very gravely. "Cut off every bond that you have ever made in your life," she said softly. "Know that blood is blood and death is death, and that both are a part of every living creature. Accept that you will endure pain and then die; move on from that acceptance. Be like shadow- still, ever-watching, untouchable. Only then will you become Sheikah, and fearless."
We rode on and spoke no more, but under the gray sky that day I made a promise. A promise that if worse came to worse and I had nothing left, if blood and death were the only paths left to seek, I would do it.
That day, with that promise, I sold my very soul.
I will be fearless, I promised myself.
I will be Sheikah.
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Continued in Chapter 4: Catacomb