AYO Happy Fourth Of July to my American peeps! And happy Monday to everyone else! All right *rubs hands together* I hope you enjoy this one!

TRIGGER WARNING: sexual assault, sexual harassment. Towards the end of the chapter.

When she woke up, it was not in a dungeon. Which was immediately suspicious.

Irene cracked her eyes open, a weight on her chest. Closer inspection revealed it to be a heavy comforter. She sat up, wincing at the pain in her head, and reached up to touch it. The pain flared, and she jerked her hand away with a sharp hiss.

If only I could heal myself, she thought. Unfortunately, she couldn't, and had found the attempts to do so often resulted in her in worse shape than before. That's a mistake you only make once. Or twice.

As the minutes ticked by, Irene became dimly aware that she was not in a dungeon.

She only had a vague idea of how palace life worked, but she was fairly sure duking it out with the Empress should have landed her in prison. And yet here she was, in a plush room that was completely unfamiliar, large bay windows on the wall to her left letting in bright sunlight. Across the room, a sitting area loomed, and to her right, the floors were carpeted, complete with a fireplace, armchairs, and a desk. A few feet away, the door was closed.

Taking a deep breath, Irene braced herself and got out of bed. Her dress had been replaced with silk pajamas, she noticed, and on the bedside table a cup of tea waited to be made, sitting on top of a handwritten note.

I have been made aware that you prefer to do things yourself. Enjoy. Take as much time as you need. When you are ready, dress and come out to the sitting room. -Zelda.

Irene's face flamed. She hadn't realized she'd been so obvious in her discomfort, but then . . . the joy of being able to do things herself outweighed that guilt.

She sighed, making the tea, wondering how much worse she could make the situation. What did Zelda want with her? And where was the sitting room? She couldn't honestly have set Irene up with her own suite, after what happened last night?

Irene raised her brows briefly in a gesture of disbelief, stirring her tea. Turning, she found a set of clothes laid out on a form. Two things immediately stood out to her.

The first was that it wasn't her robe. She wondered if she was ever getting that back. Alana had expressed doubt in getting it perfectly clean, but promised she'd do her best. Would she still, after Irene had technically attacked her best friend?

It wasn't really an attack, Irene considered, looking over the outfit. Not in the true sense of the word. It had been self-defense more than anything, a natural reaction, but she doubted that meant much to anyone friends with the empress.

The second thing that stood out was that it wasn't a dress, for which Irene was eternally grateful. It looked like a simple set of pants and a light shirt. A blazer hung beside it on a hook.

Irene drained the tea, figuring it to be some kind of pain reliever, and set the cup down. She doubted they'd poison her now, so she didn't pay much mind to it. Instead she turned to the clothes, heaving a sigh.

She dressed quickly, pulling on the soft, airy pants and light blue shirt. Slinging the blazer on, she found the clothes much more comfortable than the dress from last night. After a short hesitation, she headed for the door.

Irene felt her magic curling around her fingertips, a faint glow, as she opened the door and found another room even bigger than the bedroom. Zelda stood at the window, where the wall had been carved out to make a sitting area, a cup of tea in her hands. She turned as Irene entered, watching her look around nervously.

"There are no guards," Zelda called. "It's just us."

Irene very seriously doubted that. Abruptly she remembered the Sheikah shadows Hazen had told her about, and had to resist looking around again. She joined Zelda by the windows, sitting when the queen gestured to the couches, and met her gaze as she followed suit.

"Well," Zelda said, her hair falling forward. She was dressed much the same as Irene, her hair loose around her shoulders. "I do believe we should start over."

Irene couldn't stop a raised brow. Start over? Just like that?

Zelda caught her expression. Her lips quirked up. "I won't be forgetting anything, don't you worry about that."

For some reason, Irene's chest became tight. She swallowed, unable to decide where to look. She settled on outside the window, her gaze flicking to Zelda every now and then.

"He did say you never forgot anything."

Zelda's head turn was sharp. Irene swallowed again, hard, and forced herself to meet the queen's gaze. "I'm sorry. I need to tell you . . . everything."

She did. Zelda's eyes never left hers, even when she sucked in sudden breaths, or when she muttered curses under her breath, or when she looked like she might cry. When it was done, Zelda's gaze went unfocused, staring at Irene but not seeing her.

She breathed out sharply, standing from the chair. Her movements were shaky. When she breathed in, her chest hitched more than once. "Bloody Goddesses," she muttered, again and again.

Zelda walked the length of the room before she could come back to the window. Irene strangled the throw on the chairs, watching the queen. "Okay," Zelda said, and it was like she wasn't even speaking to Irene anymore. "Okay, I . . . I can't. I can't do that. I . . . Goddesses . . ."

Irene debated asking if she was all right before realizing what a stupid question that was. Of course she wasn't all right.

Zelda inhaled deeply through her nose, turning her face up towards the ceiling. Her mouth shaped words she didn't speak, and then she looked back at Irene. Her eyes were red-rimmed from trying not to cry, but now a fire was in them, burning bright.

"Apologies," she said, not looking even remotely sorry. "This is . . . a lot to unpack. Majora's Mask, time travel, the Doors. I need . . . I need to get my husband."

Irene stood with her, and they left together, heading down the halls in a swift gait. Zelda led her outside through a gate in the side of the palace, into a bright courtyard. She crossed it, nodding to the courtiers and nobles lingering in the sunlight, and continued on her way. Irene turned her head this way and that, trying to take it all in before they disappeared back inside again.

They crossed a small pavilion-like area, walked underneath a long overhang strung with hanging flowers and growing vines, and headed to another courtyard. This one was outside a tower, connected to the rest of the castle by a bridge, and had a small gazebo. Zelda nodded politely to the courtiers, but still didn't stop to speak. She just crossed the courtyard and headed across a small bridge.

On the other side, she walked right up to the wall of the cliff and pressed her hand to it. It swung open, revealing a long hallway. At the end, a massive window revealed a cavern, but Irene barely got a glimpse of it before Zelda led her into the room at the end of the hall.

Immediately Irene got a different sense about this room. It was still large, but more . . . close? Intimate wasn't quite the right word . . .

. . . or it was, she decided, leaning in to look at the photos everywhere. Zelda had disappeared, calling out for Link, leaving Irene to her own devices. She'd apparently decided Irene wasn't a threat.

So Irene looked closer at the photos. A large cube organizer held odds and ends like glass figurines, books, tissue boxes, homemade projects, and, of course, photos. And looking at one in particular, it became painfully obvious what this place was.

It was a home.

Hazen wasn't smiling in the photo. His head was down, reading some book, and he looked younger. Irene set it down gently, right in its place beside a blown glass seashell. She moved on to the other wall, where a large opening led into a kitchen. There was a series of shelves built into the wall, and Irene lifted one of the frames from it.

He was smiling in this one. Smiling like he'd been caught, like he hadn't been paying attention and had turned at the call of his name.

She'd never seen him smile like that. Smirks, maybe, and tired grins, but the stress and fear was always there. He'd never looked so carefree. So happy. Not like he did here, his eyes crinkling, his hair blown by the wind, his hands playing with something in the sand beneath him. She hadn't realized she was smiling too until a voice spoke.

"You care a lot for him, don't you?"

Irene nearly dropped the frame. She hurriedly set it back in its place, hardly able to meet Zelda's gaze. "It's not--we're not, um--"

Zelda raised a brow at her, a knowing look in her eye as she approached, and Irene's protests died in her throat. "I know," Zelda said, softly, and Irene could see that she did. She did know.

It made it easier to swallow, made her smile less tense. She let it turn her lips upwards, her hands squeezing her upper arms. "I don't know where it came from," she said honestly.

That made Zelda smile, too, though there was something faraway about it, like she was revisiting some fond memory. "Love is like that," she answered, meeting Irene's gaze. The words stuck in her mind, banging against the walls, leaving Irene dizzy.

She wondered briefly if she really did love Hazen--and decided that wasn't something she could unpack right now. Maybe later, when everything was over. But Zelda was still looking at her like that.

"What makes you think that?" she blurted.

Zelda offered a small smile, leaning her elbows against the windowsill in the kitchen. Irene joined her. "The way you talk about him. Your voice changes. The look on your face, in your eyes. It's subtle, but it's there."

Irene considered that. Wondered if he felt the same. She shook her head at herself, twisting her hands together, unaware that Zelda watched her. What was the point of thinking that way? They were just going to leave each other anyway. She couldn't leave Gram, not even for Hazen. And she'd never ask him to leave his family to stay with her.

"A word of advice," Zelda said quietly, as the sounds of people returning echoed through the rooms, "don't wait too long."

Irene glanced at her, but the queen's face was impassive. She merely turned and exited the kitchen as what sounded like children entered the home.

"Mommy! Look what I made with Miss Paya!" A little girl bounced up and down on her toes, holding up a . . . potato? A clay potato?

Zelda accepted it like it was made of gold. "That's amazing, sweetheart." She scooped up the child, kissing her temple. "We'll add it to the collection, hmm?"

"Right next to Hazen's," the girl said, and now she was fading, her excitement replaced with sadness. Irene watched, guilt ripping through her. How cruel it was, that she end up here instead of him.

Zelda said nothing, just kissed her daughter again and led her over to another shelf, where a large collection of clay sculptures of varying skill were arranged haphazardly. "Put it next to mine," one of the boys said, clad in a green short-sleeved shirt. "Mine's better, Nayra."

The girl, Nayra, shook her head, pointing to a finely-made sculpture. The other boy, Dinsel, was telling a story to his father, who was nodding emphatically. "And I was going to shoot the bubble shooter at Ruul's head, but then Hazen came in, and . . ."

He trailed off, and the man--Link--cupped the boy's face, his face sad. Dinsel looked up. "I wish Hazen would come home," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Faroe added, scuffing his shoe on the floor. "He's making Nayra sad."

Link said, "Not you?"

Faroe and Dinsel exchanged a glance. "No," they mumbled, looking away.

Link smiled, but it was small, and strained, and it didn't last. He looked up, meeting Zelda's gaze, who still held Nayra. She hadn't begun crying, but she was close, and Zelda went back to murmuring quietly to her.

Irene watched it all, struggling not to say anything. She debated whether or not to tell them that Hazen was okay, because she didn't even know that it was true. She hadn't seen him at all since they were in that white space--she had no idea where he'd gone. She didn't want to give them false hope.

But was it more or less cruel to give them nothing at all?

She battled with herself, unable to make a decision, until it was made for her.

Something tugged on her leg. She looked down to see Dinsel staring up at her, his hand still fisting her pant leg. "Who are you?"

Irene stared at him. Dimly she registered everyone else staring at her as well. She raised her head, meeting Zelda's gaze. Her chin dipped.

Irene swallowed, turning back to the boy. "I'm . . . friends with Hazen."

Dinsel's face fell. "Oh."

He left the kitchen to stand with his brother, his family, leaving Irene blinking. "Wha--"

"Is he making you sad, too?" Faroe asked.

Irene looked at him, willing herself to get it together, and made her way from the kitchen too. She stood in the doorway, aware of the parents' gazes on her, and knelt down to the boys' eye level.

"He does, sometimes," Irene admitted softly. "He doesn't mean to, though. Just like how he doesn't mean to make you sad, either."

"So why won't he come home?" Dinsel asked.

Why indeed. "Well," Irene said, hesitantly, "he . . . he can't right now. That's why . . . he sent me."

The words were like a dam breaking loose. All the children gasped and swarmed her, Link shot a glance at Zelda, who nodded, her arms crossed. Irene struggled not to pitch over to the floor as the three kids came in close, all asking questions at the same time.

"Where is he?"

"Why did he send you instead of Tessen?"

"Why's your hair blue?"

"Can you talk to him?"

"Can we go see him?"

Irene lost her balance and fell over, and Link came over. "All right, let's give her some space," he said, and the kids reluctantly shuffled back. Link extended a hand to Irene, pulling her up, and led her to the couch. "I think this is something we all need to hear."

"Indeed," Zelda muttered. They all sat on the couch, gesturing for Irene to sit opposite them in a chair.

"One question at a time, all right?" Zelda said to the kids, who all nodded emphatically. Irene had to squash a sad smile as Nayra scooted forward.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Irene."

"Why did Hazen send you instead of Tessen?" Dinsel demanded.

Ah. "Well," Irene hedged, "Tessen wasn't . . . there. He's okay," she added quickly, at the flash in Zelda's gaze. As far as I know, she added silently.

Zelda seemed to pick up on the unspoken words, exchanging a glance with Link over their kids' heads.

Faroe was next. "Where did you go?"

"We went to a lot of places," Irene answered, wondering how to phrase this. They would undoubtedly want to go anywhere she said, if Hazen had been there. "We went to Termina, for a few days. And . . . before that, we were in my home."

"Where's that?"

"Uhh." Irene glanced at Zelda, who mouthed 'Hyrule'.

"Hyrule," Irene said, and the kids seemed to find that answer satisfactory.

"Where's Saval?" Nayra asked. "She's missing too."

"Saval is with Tessen and Hazen," Irene told her. Again, to Irene's limited knowledge.

"Where are they now?" Dinsel asked.

"I . . . I don't know," Irene said softly. "We got separated when we left Termina."

"How?"

"I--"

"Where did Hazen go?"

"How do you know Hazen?"

"Why aren't they here?"

Irene tried to answer them all, but the children were running out of patience, and the longer she spoke about this, the more she remembered the last few moments with Hazen. The falling rocks, the Doors fading with every inch they gained, the Moon, Majora--

The mask flashed in her mind and Irene cried out, holding her head. She fell from the seat, covering her face with her hands.

"That's enough," Zelda told the kids. "She's been through a lot, let's let her rest, all right?"

They shuffled off, leaving Irene kneeling on the floor, trying to stop shaking. Hands pulled hers away, lifting her to her feet, and led her to the kitchen window. They went to her back, rubbing slow circles. "Shh," a voice said.

Irene registered it as Zelda's, and took several deep breaths. They helped, a little, but it wasn't quite enough. Until Zelda spoke again.

"Think of what you love."

Her voice was quiet, so quiet. Irene swallowed, conjuring up what she loved most. Their faces floated up, one by one.

Her parents. Gram. Her magic. Her plants. Her broom.

Hazen.

The thought--realization--almost made her start crying again, but--but it was working. Majora's face was fading, replaced with Hazen's on that beach, his crinkling eyes and carefree smile.

She lifted her face, wiping it, and met Zelda's gaze. The queen smiled, pained. "It helps," she said.

Irene nodded, looking out over the cavern until Zelda spoke again. "Now. Do you think you're up for a walk?"

She glanced at Zelda. "A walk?"

The queen nodded, that fire back in her gaze. "I have to make some calls. We'll be meeting several people, some of whom you've seen before. You'll most likely have to explain your journey thus far again, and again, and again. It will not be easy, but you must. Hazen, Tessen and Saval's safety depends on your strength, Irene."

For a moment it was hard to believe. That Irene could be responsible for their safe return, that simply telling her story could have any weight at all, any meaning.

And then she remembered what Hazen had said about his own mother, the woman in front of her. How the way she stayed strong through the war had given strength to those around her, from the Sages themselves to the last soldier in the line. How she had always stepped up to the task, no matter how much she was hurting, no matter how much she wanted to just crawl into a dark corner.

Irene stared out into the cavern, watching the sunlight play on the hewn stone walls, the small waterfall depositing clear water into a pool. Their faces flashed in her mind, a scene of peace, one of the few they'd had. Saval handing her a dish, Tessen holding out a hand to pull her closer to the fire. To them.

They were her friends. Something she hadn't had in a long time, if ever. They needed her. And Hazen . . .

Irene turned from the window, meeting Zelda's gaze. "What do I need to do?"

When he landed next, he knew he'd been right. He was going to see much, much worse by the time this was over.

Castle Town was gone. Hazen stood in a ruin, blackened and burned, only the skeletons of what was once a bustling city. He swallowed, turning in a circle. There was . . . nothing.

He'd heard stories of the Razing. Beginning from the moment Ganondorf's monster army reached the city limits, breaching the walls with his terrifying Taluses, and ending with the complete destruction of the city, following his defeat in the Battle on the Water. He'd seen pictures.

He'd never thought pictures could fall so incredibly short of the real thing.

They could never compare to this. The smell, the sights, the silence. Never in his life had he ever heard Castle Town completely silent, and yet . . .

Hazen felt tears burning. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He hadn't wanted to experience this, to see and hear and smell the war, to feel it on his skin. And Majora had thrown him to the monsters--why? Why?

He began to walk the street, unable to recognize where he was--even the street signs were gone. He stepped over rubble from the broken stone houses, trying to ignore the remnants of Hylian flags, trodden upon and dirty, buried beneath the rubble.

Something clattered--stones falling--and Hazen whirled, drawing his sword. His heart pounded almost painfully as he scanned the desolate landscape. He turned again and again, waiting for something, he didn't know what. A monster? A human?

Nothing came out, and Hazen forced himself to keep walking.

It was a few minutes later when it happened.

He turned the corner into the square. Stones clattered again and he had seconds to raise his sword before a monster leapt out from behind a broken wall. Hazen cried out as the monster's blade slammed down on his. The force knocked him over, sending him stumbling back. He tripped over a piece of rubble and tumbled into a pile of stones, and the monster roared, raising its sword--

--and disappeared. Hazen gasped for breath, frozen in his spot, his arm still raised. He didn't move though, couldn't move, because there was noise now, a noise he recognized.

The sounds of battle reached his ears, uncomfortably close, and he began to slowly get up.

"NO!"

The scream sent him tumbling back down, nearly losing his grip on his sword. Hazen looked around wildly, his gaze landing on several people near the fountain ruins. His heart stopped.

Two bodies lay dead on the stones, two he didn't recognize by face, but by context. Nabooru and Laruto, fresh blood leaking from the latter's mouth. Which meant . . . which meant . . .

Hazen nearly whimpered, his eyes tracking over the younger forms of his parents, snarling at--at--

Ganondorf laughed, a deep rumble that left Hazen shrinking further into the stones. His whole body shook, and he had to press his sword to his chest to prevent it from clattering on the stones.

His parents were speaking. ". . . only one order for you. Survive."

"As you wish," Link snarled, and then they lunged.

Hazen almost couldn't watch. But listening without seeing was far, far worse, so he opened his eyes again, waiting for the moment they'd end it, the moment he'd heard about thousands of times, read about in books and documentaries and records. He knew it was coming, knew it because they'd told him--

--Ganondorf sent his mother to the ground, and her scream as he shattered her leg hurt Hazen's ears. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he couldn't move--

Link was down. He struggled to get up again, even as Ganondorf dragged Zelda up by her hair and pressed a dagger to her throat. He taunted Hazen's father, and as he watched the exchange, Hazen felt something like dread begin to pool in his gut.

No. They--she said they killed him. She said . . .

She lied, Hazen realized. She lied to me.

She was begging, now. "Please, end it."

Hazen shook his head. How? How was Link supposed to end it? She had a dagger to her throat, for Goddesses' sakes.

"No," Link said. "No!"

"Please, Link! I--"

Ganondorf laughed. "You won't do it. You are weak, and you--"

"Shut up!" Link roared.

Won't do what? Hazen thought desperately. What were they expecting him to do? What was he supposed--

Unless . . .

No, Hazen denied, shaking his head. This was not what happened. This was not what happened.

His tears fell as his father raised his head, and then golden light flared, Link lunged, and Hazen's scream was lost in the crack of thunder.

Snow fell as if nothing had happened, serene and soft and Hazen hated the silence of it.

He could hardly process what happened after. Dimly he was aware of Link removing the Master Sword, kicking Ganondorf's corpse away, lowering Zelda to the ground. She wasn't moving.

Hazen's stomach roiled. A group of people ran into the square from a break in the wall, surrounding his parents, and their words were quiet. Someone cried, but Hazen didn't know who, because he couldn't see, and his ears were ringing, and he didn't understand--

The group was focused on his parents, so they never noticed a golden light envelop Hazen and take him away.

This is just cruel, Tessen thought. He hid in the trees outside the pavilion, watching the two people settle in for tea.

It was a good thing Twilight was in perpetual dusk, because otherwise he'd have been caught way before this. Still, though, where were the guards? Saval was a princess--there was no reason they should have been lax in her security, even more so if the duke's son was with her. Something was going on.

The boy--Saval's betrothed, Tessen reminded himself--sat down, his green eyes fixed on Saval's face. His smile was easy enough, but Tessen had never liked him, and not just because he was Saval's future husband and not Tessen himself. Something was . . . off about him, somehow. And whenever they were in the same room, during parties or state dinners, Saval was different.

Not uncomfortable, exactly, but somehow more stiff. Formal. She was usually so comfortable with everyone, so to see her out of her comfort zone was odd, at the very least.

Tessen focused back into his surveillance, watching as they made small talk, wondering again where the security was. Had they asked to be alone? That was rather scandalous, even in Midna's court, which was much less formal than some others. And why would they want to be alone?

Tessen ran through what he knew of the betrothal, which wasn't much. Saval could have agreed to the match, but even if she had, she wasn't exactly happy about it in the present, starting sometime before Hylia's birthday party. So either something happened to make her dislike the match before the party, or she never wanted it in the first place. But if that was the case, then why agree to it? Was she being pressured? By whom?

Chairs scraped back, and Tessen watched as the boy--what was his name again?--raised Saval out of her chair. She followed him to the open stretch of stone in the area, not even ten feet from where Tessen hid behind the trees. He put his hands on her waist and pulled hers to his shoulders.

Tessen nearly leapt out of the trees at that. It was considered rude to put someone's hands on your body for a dance--one was supposed to let their partner do that themselves. It was seen as taking liberties.

But he couldn't expose himself over a slight, no matter how audacious it was. So he ground his teeth and watched as Saval, stiff as a board, allowed her betrothed to lead her in a dance.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" the boy said, smiling down at her.

"It is," Saval answered. She didn't look him in the eyes, fixing her gaze on his chest.

"But not so beautiful as you, my love," he crooned, leaning his face down to her ear.

Tessen damn near snorted aloud. What an amateur line. But the look on Saval's face, and more so her body language, made the laugh dry up in his throat.

She was visibly uncomfortable, her lips twisted down in a grimace. She tried to hide it as her fiance lifted his face, but he caught the vestiges of it and sighed. "What's wrong, my lady? Distracted?"

"Distracted?" Saval said, her voice as stiff as her shoulders. "Why would I be distracted?"

"Hmm." the boy tilted his head in thought. "Perhaps your Hylian friend said something he shouldn't have."

Saval and Tessen both gasped. But while Tessen covered his mouth, Saval snarled out, "He's got nothing to do with this."

"Oh, no, I think he very much does," the boy--Silvas, Tessen finally remembered--said, grinning. "What happened, then? Did he fail to notice, yet again? Now it's just getting rather sad, don't you think?"

"Leave him alone!" Saval snapped, ripping her hands away from his chest.

Lightning fast, Silvas grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him. Tessen forgot himself and launched himself towards the couple, rage twisting his features.

But he slammed into an invisible wall, fists pounding against air. Neither of them turned at his shout, and to his horror, he realized what this was.

A privacy spell. A basic spell, but since almost no one was a Twili mage, it was rare to see their magic. Which meant . . .

Silvas was a mage. He grinned, staring down at a struggling Saval, and said, "Oh, dear. He's really got you all twisted up, hasn't he? I think I know what it was now."

"I think," he growled, grabbing Saval's waist and pushing her up against the table, "that he failed to notice how in love you are with him. I think he said something foolish, and that's why you agreed to this, didn't you?"

He accentuated the last two words with a shake. Saval snarled at him, fighting his grip, and Tessen slammed his fists against the wall, shouting for her, for the guards, for anyone despite the spell in effect.

Indeed, in the pavilion area, neither Saval nor Silvas paid him any attention. The duke's son simply seized Saval's hands and pinned them behind her, using his free hand to--

Saval cried out, squirming in his grip, but she could hardly move, and Tessen screamed against the wall, bruising his hands against the magic. He hit it again and again but it refused to break under his assault, and he could do nothing as that bastard--

Silvas finally removed his hand, letting Saval's dress fall down, and laughed. Saval glared at him, opening her mouth--

And Silvas slapped her, quick and hard. Tessen began crying, then, tears of rage and pain as Silvas buried his nose in Saval's hair. She quivered, and even from his place, Tessen could see she was grinding her teeth.

"Now now," Silvas murmured. "Don't scream. If you do, I'll have to punish you again."

"You think you'll get away with this?" Saval hissed, spitting blood. "You think my parents will let you live after I--"

"After you what?" Silvas snarled, biting her neck. Saval bit down on her lip, and Tessen began beating at the wall. Maybe if I hit it hard enough, he thought, slamming his fist hard enough to bruise. Maybe it will break.

It didn't, no matter how hard he struck it, and on the other side, he was forced to hear Silvas say, "After you tell them about this? And what will you say? That you met with a young noble with no guards, alone in the gardens? The shame," he crooned, running his nose along Saval's cheek.

"You'll tell them nothing," Silvas whispered in her ear. "You'll do nothing, either. If you do, I'll tell everyone what really happened."

He stepped back, grinning. "I'll tell the court that you assaulted me, and had your Hylian fling hold me down while you savagely beat me. I'll tell them that you tried to take what I was not ready to give. I'll tell them," he breathed, as the light in Saval's eyes died and the blood drained from her face, "that you tried to--"

Tessen covered his ears. He couldn't listen anymore, couldn't watch Saval slowly lose the will to fight, not as Silvas threatened her with the worst. How dare he. And why did Saval believe him? Why--why didn't she tell someone? Her mother, at least? Midna would never allow this.

He wanted to believe that no one would believe that bastard, that they would take their princess's side. But Tessen had grown up in the courts. He knew that even the suspicion of what Silvas threatened would be enough to send Saval's life into turmoil.

And he knew, as Saval did, that the real thing holding her back was the fear. Because there was something to Silvas's threats. They were alone in the gardens. Silvas had orchestrated it that way, but that would hardly matter to many. The lack of any witnesses would condemn Saval if she came forward, and though it was the princess's word against the noble's, even just the facts could sway many of the court.

It was bullshit. Tessen knew it, Saval knew it, everyone knew it. But it was the way of the courts, and Silvas had used that to his advantage.

The duke's son led Saval to the table, bidding her to sit down, and she did so, her eyes dead and empty, even as blood slid down her neck.

Golden light surged around Tessen, and the last thing he saw was Silvas leaning across the table, wiping the blood with a napkin, smiling at Saval.

Yeesh. Yeah it's, uh... it's dark. Ahem.

Well anyway. I just want to say before anyone comes at me about this saying "she should have said something! How hard is it to come forward?"

It's extremely hard. Sexual assault is not a joke, and it's never easy to talk about, period. And that's not how I'm treating it here. I'm bringing it to light and showing how real it is. It's so hard to come forward about assault and rape, and though I myself have never been a victim of it, many people in my life have, and I tell you there is nothing harder than seeing the people you love cave under the memory of that abuse.

Sexual abuse was and still is a huge issue in society, and the fact that women (and men) have to feel ashamed about coming forward about it is frankly bullshit. But it's a reality. And abusers make it really hard for their victims to get any sort of justice, by saying "she was dressed like a slut" or "she was drunk". These are NOT excuses. These are not viable reasons to attack ANYONE.

In this story, Silvas has used the societal standards and customs to his advantage. Empire and From Your Time are pretty much set in a medieval sort of time frame, and that's a time that unfortunately saw a lot of female abuse. More disappointing and shitty than that, though, was the way they handled cases of this stuff. Basically, they disregarded it and even slut-shamed women, even though it wasn't their fault. And yes it is bullshit. Plain and simple. Silvas has absolutely used that to his advantage to abuse Saval and keep her under his control. Add the fact that there are some facts to his story, such as how they were alone, and Saval would be damned if she came forward.

So uh, yeah. Happy Monday. Leave a review if you like!