Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda and all related characters and names belong to Nintendo.
War of the Fairies1 – Prologue
She burst through the murky cloud at a dizzying speed, her sleek wings slick with sleet and rain, then spun, diving under the form of a Great Dragon, its slow-moving scaly form radiating vast waves of shimmering heat. Opening her wings slightly, a spray of water exploding into the night as a result, Hawthorne the Fairy pulled out of the dive, the wind screaming in her ears as it tried to buffet her here and there. In the distance she caught sight of the silent, imposing form of the Lost Woods and Kokiri Forest, and her heart leapt just a notch.
Yes, it's home, no doubt, but stop being silly. You'll be back there before sunrise. That is...if it's even worth going back there now.
A blanket of burning lights unfolded beneath her as she buried her thoughts, and Hawthorne honed in on her destination – the Hyrulean city of Mountbasten, known commonly as Dragon Point, Dragon Lair and even, to some, as Dragon Roost. Laughing as she began to spin, Hawthorne drove through the city's Emerald Arches, lit by ghostly illumination that danced on the polished surface, then dodged and weaved her way through a veritable forest of legs, hooves, wheels and the occasional splash, though from her viewpoint it was almost like trying to dodge a huge wave. Finally, after spotting the dwelling she was aiming for, Hawthorne curved upwards with a flutter of wings, spilling Fairy Dust behind her, then came to a stop outside a window looking in on a darkened room.
Hawthorne closed her eyes, held her breath – and then stepped through the glass. It was a little known technique that only Service Fairies possessed, and even then they could only use it when on the job. The sounds of the city below sank instantly into a muffled thud, steady as a heartbeat, and Hawthorne pursed her lips, surveying the scene. Splintered shards of moonlight illuminated the room briefly, and she could see that was standing on a chest of drawers, itself beside a bed, within which was the huddled sleeping form of a small girl, her long auburn hair spilling out onto her pillow.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Hawthorne whispered as she spied those very same strands. For Hawthorne was a Hair Fairy; her task was not dissimilar to the Tooth Fairy ("Pfft! Amateur!" she would say to herself whenever that woman was mentioned), except that, instead of pinching a tooth, she took a strand of hair in exchange for a gold coin. Pulling a sack from her belt and whistling softly to herself, Hawthorne nonchalantly tip-toed her way across the varnished surface, one bare foot over the other.
She paused in front of a beautifully constructed comb, woven with carefully carved patterns and, after a surreptitious glance to the left and right, picked it up and dropped it into her sack. "She won't miss it, no doubt," Hawthorne reassured herself in a whisper. "Won't miss it at all."
With another flutter of wings, Hawthorne flew up to the girl, and observed her chest rising and falling softly, her eyes shut tight. "Hmm," the Hair Fairy said, mulling over the sight with a puzzled frown. She floated down to the pillow, took the end of a strand of hair, wrapped it around her tiny fist, and pulled.
Nothing happened.
"Tsk," Hawthorne said in a voice thick with irritation. "Not one of those again."
Chewing the inside of her cheek Hawthorne rummaged about in her bag, a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyes came to rest upon a pick-axe, thought about for a moment, then shook her head with a "Nah." Her hands curled around a solid circular object. "Ah ha!" Hawthorne said, pulling the Mini Goron Bomb free. "Eheheheheheh!" she snickered as she lit the fuse with some fairy dust. The Bomb spat, sizzled, then caught, Hawthorne's nose twitching as the sharp scent of something burning filled the air. She set the Bomb down beside the pillow, then flew up, her fingers in her ears –
The girl shot upright, eyes wide, screaming as the Bomb went off with a tiny pop. A small clump of her hair, enwrapped within a thin wisp of smoke, plumed into the air and, in a blink of an eye, Hawthorne grabbed one, flicked a coin onto the pillow and dove through the window. She managed to catch sight of the bedroom door bursting open and frantic parents rushing in before she swooped down to the street below. With a satisfied sigh, Hawthorne brushed herself down, flicked her own hair out of her eyes, and slid the strand of little girl hair into her sack.
"Well, well, well." Hawthorne froze as the deep voice reached her. Slowly she turned around, inwardly groaning as she saw the small group of male Fairies watching her with arms folded and haughty expressions. There were three of them, clothed in long robes, their wings beating slowly.
"The Self-Righteous Posse!" she breathed, and knew instantly it was a mistake when their eyes hardened.
"We," said the leader, heavy disdain in his voice, "prefer the name The Righteous Keepers of the Flame." He looked over her in a way that made her uncomfortable, then added: "I see you're still serving the pathetic germs, giving them money while you take away something they don't need." He glanced at her sack, saw the comb peeking out. "Though in your case, you seem to take that little something extra, don't you, my dear? My, my, have we been a bad Fairy today?"
Hawthorne, her feet like lead, backed away. "Leave me alone!" she gasped. "Just you leave me alone!"
"No," the leader spat. "We must teach you the error of your ways. We must show you the true Light of Fairy Philosophy."
It would have come out as ridiculous from anyone else – it was ridiculous – but when this particular Fairy said it, it sounded very much like a threat. Hawthorne rallied. She knew the ways, she'd been taught their traditions. "There's...there's not only one," she squeaked. She hated the way her voice hitched in her throat. "I mean...I mean there's more than one way to interpret the old ways. If we want to serve we can! You can't change that."
"Wrong," the Righteous Fairy replied, his robes billowing in the breeze. "There is only one way. Our way." His baritone voice seemed to drill straight into her soul. "The way of Fairy Truth – all Fairies who don't share this are not even worthy of the name." Sparks of anger danced in his eyes. "And those particular individuals should be...removed."
"The...the Treasure of the Ancients," Hawthorne swallowed, then took in a breath, "The Treasure of the Ancients – it's all there. 'Proud to Serve', we are, that's what it says, no doubt."
A flicker of disdain passed over the leader's face. "I think you'll find," he said, "that it says 'Proud to be Free. Proud to be True. Proud to be Chosen." His voice dropped, his eyes blazing. "You know what it means to be 'chosen?' It means we're special. Better. The best."
Hawthorne grit her teeth. "You don't know! You've never seen it!"
The leader sniffed. "Neither have you, I'd wager." He glanced at his two friends, then smiled a smile that stabbed Hawthorne to the heart with fear. "But, come along now...we're all Fairies here. I think all you need, my dear...is a little love."
Hawthorne's hand went straight to her mouth. "No!" she gasped.
The leader, his eyes like flint, snapped his fingers. "Mr C!"
"Not him!" Hawthorne whimpered, tears in her eyes.
A fat blob of a fairy with a childlike face and tiny wings buzzed into view. It held a bow, a quiver tied to its back, and his chest seemed to be covered in gold chains and medallions then clinked as he hovered.
The Self-Righteous Posse grinned sickly grins. "Mr C," the leader said. "Please show Miss...Miss?"
"Hawthorne," squeaked Hawthorne.
The leader's grin widened as he knitted his fingers. "Miss Hawthorne...please show her the true meaning of love."
Mr C, his wings buzzing furiously like a bee trapped in a bottle, slid an arrow into his bow. "I pity the fool that don't know how to love."
"Not him..." Hawthorne whispered, her eyes widening.
"I'll get this sucka," Mr C raised his weapon, pulling the bowstring taut.
"Not Cupid!" Hawthorne screamed as the arrow tore through the air aimed straight for her chest. Acting on instinct she somersaulted backwards, landing with a grunt behind a broken and discarded metal beam. More arrows speared the air above her head, and Hawthorne ducked, her heart screaming as the wall behind her erupted in clouds of falling masonry and popping hearts.
"Come back here, fool!" Cupid called, reaching back for another set of arrows.
Hawthorne pressed her back against the cold metal beam, flinching as the arrows skimmed off of the top, spilling blood-red sparks down onto her head. Her hair sizzling, Hawthorne hugged herself tightly as the pings and zings of the hail of arrows reverberated around her head, almost deafening her.
I have to get out! I promise I'll never take anything else but hair ever again, but please let me get out! she told her trembling body. I have to fly!
Her face scrunching up in sheer determination, Hawthorne curled her hands into fists just as she heard Cupid call: "Come out here, you sucka!" With a yell, she leapt, ran, then launched herself into the air, her wings beating like they'd never beat before. She heard the spit of the bowstring, felt the heat of the arrows on her tail, then lurched to the left, dodging one, and dived, dodging –
She screamed as the arrow hit her on the tip of one wing. Snapping her head around she saw a heart forming out of thin air atop a charcoal streak on her right wing. "No!" She banked sharply to the left, pulling away from the heart before it could touch her – the last thing she wanted was to fall in love with the Self-Righteous Posse – then with a roar of triumph she dived, and then curved up steeply, gold coins flying free from her sack. Hawthorne didn't care. She was free!
"Sorry, boss," Mr C said, hovering beside the leader of the Posse as he watched Hawthorne disappear into the distance. "I pity that fool."
"Not to worry, Mr C," the leader said, stiffening his neck and straightening his back. He motioned at the others. "Let us leave...there's plenty more of the ignorant that need to be educated." They waited a moment, just in time to see a single gold coin drop out of the inky darkness, land on its edge, spin, then shimmer to a stop before they all turned away.
A/N: Um, hello? Was that me who said 'I'll never write again and this time I mean it?' Oh, ha ha, surely that was some other Mr Infinitive. Look, I think you guys should ignore me every time I say that (I bet most of you did anyway) – I'm like the drug addict walking around with a big dopey grin muttering 'Addicted? Not I!' This time you can blame Nate (you know who you are) for this particular resurrection. He's also responsible for inspiring a scene later in chapter 3. Anyhow, enjoy...