Disclaimer: It has occurred to me that I own Odnetnin!
Whee! (Look! Haiku!)
--
The soft silence is
Broken only by the darkOf the dying day.
--
In the hushed dawn light, Zyuiu Dbyu moaned softly in her sleep and rolled over. She blinked once or twice to get the sand out of her eyes. She frowned as something moved in front of her.
Standing right in front of her was Ymota U.
Zyuiu's eyes widened as she sat up. In literally the blink of an eye, Ymota U had moved behind Zyuiu's line of sight. Every time Zyuiu twisted to see her sister, she only caught a flash of brown hair and a leg making a sharp turn. Finally, Zyuiu wedged herself in the corner and looked around. Ymota U was gone. Then, suddenly, the brown-haired twin popped up from beneath Zyuiu's bed.
That was when Zyuiu realized that the bed she had just woken up in was smaller than the bed she had gone to sleep in. And the room was not the airy guest room in the Odnetnin castle, but the small, dusty room she had grown up in, in Hyrule Proper.
And that Ymota U was not dead.
"Ymota U," Zyuiu whispered. "You—you're dead, and…I'm in Odnetnin, and…"
Ymota U smiled warmly, sincerely. "No," she said. "You were just dreaming again, Zyuiu, just dreaming!"
Zyuiu looked around again, desperately trying to understand what was going on. The window caught her eye. The light streaming in was not golden but reddish. The room of her childhood smelled of incense and was decorated with symbols of the Gerudo and of the Triforce.
"Ymota U, what is going on?"
"Nothing's going on," Ymota U said, sitting on the bed beside her sister. "How far back are you confused about?"
"I—I don't know," Zyuiu said, still looking around. "But, Ymota U…You died three years ago!"
Ymota U looked genuinely confused. Then she laughed. "Three years ago? Three years ago, I killed the little archseer, and…then I killed Zelda. You finished off the rest of those troublemakers a few weeks later. Don't you remember?" When Zyuiu stilled looked stunned, Ymota U smiled indulgently and continued. "And then you helped me kill the King and Queen of Hyrule. Then we killed Damion…And just this year, Zyuiu, I summoned Ganondorf back from the Sacred Realm and we killed him, too."
"You died! I was there! Ymota U, I saw you die!"
Ymota U hugged her sister. "What has gotten into you? You must be thinking of six years ago, Zyuiu. That's when I died. And after the Ksam-Rorrim took over Odnetnin, I took my chance and came back. That's when the little archseer died."
"The Ksam-what?"
Ymota U stood up. "What is wrong with you today, Zyuiu?" She shook her head. "I have things to see to." She left.
Zyuiu jumped up and went over to her window. She could not see much of the city beneath her; this was her old room but not in her old house. And true to her eye, the sunlight was bloody.
Zyuiu sank back onto her bed.
"But she died…"--
Zyuiu gasped and sat up. She rubbed her eyes and looked around quickly. She was in the bed she had gone to sleep in, courtesy of the King of Odnetnin. The sunlight peeking through her window was pale and golden, not bloody red.
She put her face in her hands and took several long, deep breaths. She wasn't surpised to find a few tears leaking from her eyes. It had been months since she had last even dreamed of Ymota U, much less had something so close to a nightmare.
Zyuiu liked to wake with the dawn and be up and moving not long after. This morning, though, she sat in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, and wondering.
"She died…"
--
"I hate dreaming," Rhia sighed. "I just hate it. And prophecy dreams are the worst. I hope this one's not…oh…"
She was standing at the entrance to a room. The room in front was circular; the hall behind her long and dark. It was cool down here, cool and dark. The room was made of stone, cold and damp.
Most of Rhia's companions stood in a cluster in the center of the room. They were gathered around a large, ornate mirror. The mirror's surface was glowing silvery-blue; it was the only light that Rhia could see.
Rhia stood, watching them all watching the mirror. Suddenly, the surface of the mirror rippled and laughter and a scream were heard. The scream was cut short and something was expelled from the glass. Rhia watched, unnoticed and alone, as the companions slowly fell, gathering the debris from the mirror. They swept past her into the long, dark hall. She was left alone in the room, gazing at the mirror.
Slowly, she made her way over to the mirror. Kneeling down, she picked up what had been left behind by her companions. She only held it for some long minutes, then curled her fist around it and put her fist to her heart.
After a moment, the mirror's surface rippled again and one last thing came tumbling out. Rhia heard the laughter again as the surface of the mirror calmed. She moved over to this new thing. White clothes were stained red; skin was burned and covered in blood. Long brown hair fell over a face angelic in death. Blue eyes stared up sightlessly at the stone ceiling, secrets of the past and future locked away forever in a further, forgotten land.
Hands trembling violently, Rhia reached out and gently shut her own eyes forever.
--
Rhia woke up stifling a scream in the pre-dawn grey. That had been a prophecy. She could feel it in her eyes and hands as they burned. Her eyes and hands had really been there.
Her hands were in fact still shaking and were clenched tightly, nails digging into the palms of her hands. She loosened up one hand and straightened out her fingers. With that hand, she unrolled the other still-tight fist. As she pried back her fingers, she paused. It wasn't real. It wasn't here.
She'd picked it up and held it close in the dream. She'd actually held it, she knew, but that was only in the dream-land. Items there never crossed into reality. She looked around —the light was darkening steadily around her. A black veil, a black aura had settled around her. She was marked.
In her hand, she held a bloody chicken feather.
--
Anything?
"Anything!"
Who are you?
"No one! My name—"
I know your name. What is this heritage of yours that you are willing to give?
"I…I don't know."
But you are willing to give it?
"Yes. Please."
Interesting.
"Please!"
This sword is old, you know.
"I do, but—"
Your father's?
"Yes, but—"
His father's before?
"I…I think so…"
The heritage of a flame is a most interesting thing. Fire can be passed on forever, even if not to the same candle. Fire can make most interesting leaps.
"We're wasting time, please!"
Your heritage does not come from your blood.
"What? I—"
It is most old…sacred.
"Where—"
If you give up this heritage of yours, you will lose most of what you are.
"Will it save him?"
Of course. Steel and fire do not lie, and that is what I am.
"What will I lose?"
Most everything. This sword, the fire in you, the spirit that fights to keep you, the spirit that fights with you in battle…You will not be who you are. The flames will quiet. You will be…docile.
"Do it."
The sword will move on. It chose you for the flames that are about to be extinguished.
"Then let it move on!"
Very well. Goodbye, Lindsay.
--
Lindsay woke up cold; her feet and fingers were numb. She felt Rowrun sleeping next to her; his body was warm. She couldn't quite remember her dream, only that she'd hated every moment of it. And that it had been very cold…
She looked at Rowrun. He looked fairly disheveled. Lindsay knew that was how he always was, but she could never help but smile. Asleep, he looked so innocent, almost childish. When he woke up, he was more mischief than sweetness. He was so vivacious and full of energy. He said he loved Lindsay because she was, too. Because she was Flames. Every time he touched her red hair, he melted.
"Don't lose me," she whispered to him. "I promise not to lose you."
She settled back under the blanket, still cold.
--
"Couldn't you dance with me, just once more?" But she was already leaving. And as he watched her go, the red bled from her hair. The green from her eyes was already a fading puddle on the ground. Her browns and greens and silvers and fleshy pinks were all bleeding off of her like paint in the rain. "Wait…"
The trees all bled in front of him. Green leaves, brown bark, all slid to the ground, like a snake shedding its skin. The ground was forfeiting its color, the grass and soil spitting up color in a series of strangely beautiful fountains. And as he watched, the colors in the sky slid down the horizon and began puddling on the ground.
What was left all around him was the same landscape of before, but colorless. All the color was collected in puddles, real, liquid puddles on the ground. And he—he still had color. He, Rowrun of the Crimson Hawk and he, Rowrun the Fox, still had color. His white shirt, his brown pants, his crimson tattoo, his blue eyes, all still true.
Very slowly, the color of his skin began to drip. Then his hair, then his eyes, then his clothing. The dripping was almost maddening. When it was over, he looked down. He was colorless now too, but for the crimson hawk on his chest. He ran his hand over the tattoo curiously. As his fingers passed, the hawk itself shuddered and ripped itself free of Rowrun, ripping his heart out with it.
He fell to his knees, watching as the red blood dripping from the hawk splashed into the puddle, and how the grey blood dripping from him did too. Clutching his empty chest, Rowrun watched the hawk shoot upwards, a streak of unbelievably beautiful crimson in the blank grey sky.
--
Rowrun woke up quietly, breathing in quickly. He thought Lindsay was asleep, too, but she was looking up at him. She moved closer to him and whispered in his ear, "It's all right, Rowrun, I'm here. Go back to sleep."
Rowrun took Lindsay's face in one hand and looked at her, eyes wide. "Your eyes," he said.
"What about my eyes?"
"They're still green." Rowrun's perfect earnestness made Lindsay giggle nervously. "And your hair is still red."
"Well, what else would it be?"
"Grey," he whispered. "Colorless. Don't ever let the color fade, Lindsay."
She made a comforting hushing noise at him. "Don't speak nonsense, you," she said. "You're still half-asleep. I'll never let the color fade, if that makes you happy."
As Rowrun struggled to fall asleep again, Lindsay didn't even try. Which was more valuable to Rowrun, life, or life in color? "And which will I give you?" Lindsay wondered. "Which can I give you?"
--
The cries of the men were loud as they died. His battlecry was lost in the screams of the dead and the clash of steel, but he still cried out for his fallen comrades, his homeland, and his freedom. "We will not fall!" He raised his sword high and felt its pulse in his hands, felt the spirit within live. "We will not fall!"
He charged forward, the tattered remnants of his army behind him. Crown prince of a country that the enemy proclaimed had no rights to exist. Crown prince of an abomination. "We will not fall!"
In his hands, the sword writhed and twisted, changed. He allowed the sword to become him, and he lost himself in the sword. The sword grew more powerful with each swing, and with each swing, its form changed. Now a spear, now a sword, now a mace, now a sword again—he held in his hands power. The power to liberate his people! The power to protect the house of his father for all time!
He held in his hands the power crafted by a secret circle for him, for him! This sword, this magic, this power was his. It had been crafted for his hand.
A bloodred hawk circled, high above. The hawk bled furiously, but cried triumphantly. This night was his.
--
André woke up, startled. What had that been? That dream was like history come alive. The first battle for Odnetnin's freedom—hundreds and hundreds of years ago—had been a victory. Led by the crown prince of Odnetnin, the Hylian soldiers had been slaughtered.
That was the war's only victory for Odnetnin. Hyrule had overcome, the Sword of Power had been buried for nearly five hundred years, and the heritage of Odnetnin was nearly forgotten.
He had the sword, now. The great Sword of Power, crafted for a now nameless ancestor, was in his hands. Prince André of Odnetnin. And the ancient struggle between his people and the kingdom of Hyrule had stopped, for now. Zelda's father didn't want this forsaken stretch of land.
André looked at his swordhand. A few faint scars traced over the skin. In his hands was the power of Odnetnin. It had been fueled once, long ago, by a mysterious brotherhood, founded in blood and troubles, symbolized by the Bloodhawk. André and Rowrun had sought to recreate the nobility of the Bloodhawk with their own brotherhood, the Order of the Crimson Hawk. The crimson hawk was the lifeblood of Odnetnin, its pride and truth.
So why did it bleed?
--
The faces were changing quickly, allowing him a second's recognition before changing again. The first two faces he could make out in the shadows were faces he did not know. The first was a man, with golden blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked more than familiar. The next was a woman, also with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was drawn to her immediately—he wanted to know her, to have her hold him—but she was quickly gone. She was replaced by warm red hair and laughing eyes. Malon! A first love, a lost love that he didn't really miss. And then there was green hair, green eyes. She was short and slender and smelled of home. Link had loved her more than anything else in the world, but the love was platonic. She was his spirit sister, his first guide in the dark night forests. Saria. Her face twisted and became yet another young woman he knew well. Princess of the Zora, she'd been, before becoming a Sage for him. Ruto had loved him, if he had not loved her back. She gave him everything.
The blue twisted and was red, tan, and beautifully gold. A pledge to him—a Sage for him—Nabooru. A queen, a thief, a victim, a savior. But it changed. Why could he find no voice as the images flew by? Why could he not thank them?
The slender desert queen was replaced by yet another of the Sages. His brother! Darunia. Brother. Fire and rock, heart and mind. Brother. Gone now, replaced by—Rauru? Watcher for seven years as his body grew. Protecter.
And then, the face became slender, the white hair fuller. She was at home in the shadows. She watched him coolly. Her strength was unbelievable. Sheikah, last of her kind. Silent in the shadows—Sheikah! Protecter of the only woman he'd ever really loved, ever really would love. He owed her everything. Impa.
Sheikah! The shadows rearranged themselves around the new face. Red eyes shone out from underneath a wrapping of rags. He felt so many feelings arise within him—gratitude, love, hate, anger, confusion. Three years ago he'd been made to hate her—Sheik…
He knew who Sheik would become. The morph to Zelda wasn't really a stretch, was it? The long blonde hair came tumbling out, the red eyes faded to blue. He expected to see her smile, but no smile came. He suddenly realized that the wide blue eyes were wild, her face contorted in pain. He watched a line of blood open on her face and trickle slowly down. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he help her?
He watched, helpless, as the woman he loved was replaced by a laughing figure he did not know. It looked like Zelda, but the glowing red eyes and darkness were perhaps a poignant warning that this was everything Zelda was not. The laughter was taken over by Ymota U. Dead she was, but engraved in Link's mind she remained. Evil and beautiful, she had nearly succeeded in killing Zelda and making Link her own forever.
Every figure that followed was laughing. Ymota U, the evil sorceress, was replaced by the equally vile sorceror Damion. And Damion—Damion was replaced by the King himself…
Red-haired, laughing, the man in black armor. He was looking at the dreaming boy, looking and laughing. He had the power now, power and pleasure and pain. Murderer and usurper, destroyer and king…
Ganondorf…
--
Link didn't wake up immediately after his dream. His stormy mind continued tossing him about, battering him against rocks of memory and imagination. When he did wake up, the morning light was pouring in through the window and Zelda was just sitting up and stretching.
He could still hear Ymota U laughing.
--
The morning broke silently over Odnetnin. Rhia paced agitatedly around her room, looking from time to time at the bloody feather she held clenched in her hand. How had the feather crossed worlds?
Zyuiu sat on her bed, staring at the floor and ignoring the slow tears that traced trails down her pale cheeks. She felt a distant aching in her heart and cursed herself for it. Ymota U had been evil—she did not need or want that vileness back in her life.
Lindsay and Rowrun both sat in their bed, Lindsay cradling Rowrun as he stroked her long hair. Lindsay was lost in her musings, wondering if her sword had really spoken to her in the night. Would it save Rowrun at her expense? And Rowrun—Rowrun was contemplating life in a colorless world and found that it frightened him. Jerkily, he moved his hand from Lindsay's hair to his own chest. She caught his hand and they stared curiously into one another's eyes, wondering if forever would happen the way it was meant to.
André stood at the old wooden wardrobe in the corner of his inner room. It was where he kept his armor and the Sword of Power. The armor therein was old, older than André knew. It had served the princes of Odnetnin in countless battles of the past. He reached out with one trembling hand and held the Sword of Power. It did not live in his hands, and he wondered if you had to be prepared to die for the sword to live for you.
Link stood at the basin in his room, splashing the water onto his face. He was struggling to remember the litany of faces. Had the first really been who he thought? Father, Mother? Secrets locked away to him, he who grew up in the forest. He wondered if his life was like his dreams—started by his mother and father, and ended by Ganondorf?
Zelda stood at her window, staring in the wide open sky. On most mornings, the golden light of the sun warmed and comforted her. For seven years, a seven years that had never really happened, she had been forced to hide and watch the sun sink into smoky darkness. But now, even the sun could not warm her soul. Dreams were powerful things, and real, sometimes. She felt trapped. The darkness behind the sun was all too evident today, and the shadows thrown from her dreams were nearly blinding.
--
a/n: This sucks. I hate this chapter. I'm…unhappy with it.
Well, anyway.
I wanted to get into the psyches of our lovely characters, sort of forcibly making them less static. Which is my roundabout way of apologizing for a chapter where nothing happens.
So, what do we know? Zyuiu is afraid of Ymota U but loves her; Rhia is…holding a bloody chicken feather? I mean, forseeing her own death. Possibly a death by chickens but I'm not telling; Lindsay is willing to give up everything for Rowrun because he completes her, but Rowrun is not willing to live in a world with Lindsay and/or Flames; André is…um…I don't know what André is. I wrote that part without a plan. I think he's jealous. The sword changes but doesn't live for him. Little does he know that I think the sword devours souls when alive. Yum. But not in a Soul Edge from Soul Caliber sort of way. Just…eats 'em. And tosses the empty shell into the grave. But maybe not. Linky is scared of Ganondorf again. And Zelda is getting totally freaked out!
Expect to see me resurrect people for no other reason than I want to! Also, watch me kill the characters you love and resurrect them because I do that. To date, I have killed seven characters in various and sundry stories, and none of them stayed dead. Except for the ones that did but came back to play anyway.