Author's Note: Hey folks! Just to let you all know in advance, at this point (4/6/20) I'm working off a backlogged arc-five chapters, all around or over 7k-and I'm planning on posting them every 2-3 weeks, depending on how quickly I can get the next arc written.
The air was bitterly cold when Zelda woke, and the light that filtered through the shutters was a sullen, pre-dawn grey that hardly lit the little room in the inn at the Kara Kara Oasis. She reluctantly pulled back her blankets, hissing as the chill struck her in the bones, but stood anyway. Rarely had she been so grateful to have a rug underfoot as she was now, even as she cast about for her clothing.
At least, she thought, spotting the heap of magenta and cream fabric poking out from under her pack, she and Link had thought ahead and purchased kurta, sirwal, and scarves for veils the night before. She dressed hastily, pulling the drawstring on the sirwal closed at her waist and pulling the kurta on over her head, then draped her veil over her head, leaving it open about the neck so she could pull it up as needed. The clothing was less buffer from the cool air than she preferred, but she'd want her cloak anyway— desert nights were frigid, and wouldn't warm up until the sun was over the horizon— but after the heat of the day set in they'd be grateful for the finely woven linen and loose, flowing layers. And, at any rate, Link wouldn't be allowed to enter Gerudo Town without them. It had been forbidden for men of any race to enter, and had been so for as long as Hylians had kept written records, which meant that if she wanted him to accompany her into Gerudo Town, he would need to pass as a woman.
She slid her feet into her soft-soled boots, then fastened her belt at her waist, wincing as paper crinkled inside her journal pouch. It wasn't the journal that crinkled, of course— rather, the flimsy paper employed by the royal messenger pigeon system, from her father's numerous messages. He'd sent nearly a dozen of them in the two weeks since she and Link had located the Temple of Farore.
Or, rather, since they'd been caught leaving the Faron Confederation.
Which had caused a political uproar the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Faronese declined to rejoin Hyrule in her grandmother's day, and which had ended in the Council of Faron declaring that if she ever set foot on their territory again, they would consider it an act of of war by the Hylian crown. Needless to say, her father had been furious. His first few letters had demanded she return to the palace immediately, but when she and Link reached the village of Katsuto, on the banks of the River Hylia, his messages had changed.
While she and Link had been deep in the Faronese wilderness, the chieftain of the Gerudo had been murdered.
According to her father's letters, the chieftain had encountered outriders of the Yiga Clan— emerging from some hidden stronghold after a century of silence— and she'd fallen in combat in defense of her people. Her heir had purportedly taken the throne by the time Link and Zelda reached the Gerudo-held Koukot stable at the mouth of the canyon, and her father demanded she either seek an audience with the new chieftain to ensure the treaties were kept, or return home immediately .
And, well, any option looked more pleasant than returning to Hyrule Castle alone to face her father's wrath.
For all his demands he'd been rather short on letting her know what to anticipate with the new chieftain, though. Zelda knew they'd met once as children; that is, she had vague memories of a young girl with dark skin and fiery hair playing with her in the gardens of Hyrule Castle, and court records showed that the Gerudo chieftain, her wife, and her daughter had paid a diplomatic visit to the Castle when she was six. The girl's name, she recalled, had been Dragmire— she remembered it solely because it had been a strange name for a girl, and because Dragmire had been so offended by her comment on it. She remembered almost nothing else, and certainly she would have changed a good deal from childhood, but there was precious little information to be had.
She hefted her pack onto her back and slipped out into the hall on silent feet, making her way to Link's room a few doors down, and rapped lightly on the doorframe. It was earlier than he liked to be up, especially with the length of their trek the previous day, but only a fool risked desert crossing in the full heat of the day. Zelda didn't fancy herself a fool, and never had— else she'd have slept another hour or three.
Link's room stayed silent, though, and she frowned and knocked again. And then a third time, when he still failed to rouse.
Fabric rustled at the fourth knock, and then there was a thump , like something of Link's mass falling out of bed onto the floor. Further rustling. A second thump, this one almost hollow-sounding, like a fist on wood, and then the door creaked inward and Link peered blearily out at her.
"...'S the middle of the night, Zelda," he groused.
"No, it's an hour before dawn," Zelda replied, and reached out to straighten his scarf, arranging his veil for him. "We have to walk, remember? The sand seal depot was out of seals trained for Hylian riders, and I don't know about you, but I would prefer not to walk in the heat."
Not that she considered that a great pity, after all. The beasts were bigger than a horse with tusks like daggers, and 'seal surfing' seemed a dubious mode of transportation at best. The crossing from the oasis to Gerudo Town would take longer on foot than by seal, but that was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.
Link sighed. "...Yeah, I'd rather not," he said. "Faron was bad enough."
"At least it's a dry heat this time," Zelda said, trying for sympathetic. "Now put that veil up, get your pack, and let's go."
"Still," Link said.
He pulled his veil up over his nose and affixed it in place regardless, then slung his pack up onto his shoulder and fell in behind her. Even in the dim pre-dawn light, camp- and cook-fires and low, colorful tents dotted the sand and exposed stone around the central pool. A few were occupied by clusters of Gerudo, either breakfasting or setting up their market stalls, but the majority were occupied by Hylian or Rito traders— though Zelda caught a glimpse of a Goron on the far side of the oasis, deep in conversation with a Gerudo who stood nearly as tall as he, before she and Link turned towards the desert and the distant lights of Gerudo Town. Link waved at someone, and when Zelda cast a sidelong glance in the direction he'd waved, several vai around a cook-fire were waving back.
"Friends of yours?" she asked.
Link shrugged. "I showed them a rice ball recipe," he said. "We chatted."
"Did you hear any interesting gossip?"
"I asked about weird ruins in the desert, but none of them had heard anything unusual."
"So what's 'usual', then?"
Link shrugged again, tugging his travelling cloak more tightly around him. "Ghost fires in buildings, voices in sandstorms. Sounds more like poes than temples with sacred flames."
"Ah," Zelda said. "Well, that's a disappointment. Hopefully you can get out to check with the Gerudo chapter of the archaeologists' guild. They may know something the common people don't." She fell silent a moment as they passed the last row of tents to the west, the open desert spreading out before them. "And...you didn't happen to hear anything about Chief Dragmire, did you?"
"Is His Majesty still pressuring you to deal with that treaty?"
"He wants extensions for Hylian merchants to enter Gerudo Town itself. Male merchants," she added, before Link could say anything.
Link shook his head. "From what the merchants I spoke with last night said, Dragmire won't spring for it. Apparently she's doubled the watch, and Hylian men aren't allowed within a league of the city walls."
Zelda winced. "And I'd hoped I could get her permission for you to traverse the city without being veiled."
"It's alright," Link said. "I don't mind. It's keeping the dust out of my mouth, at least."
That was certainly true, Zelda reflected. Between her veil shielding her nose and mouth from the sand and dust, which every gust of wind whipped airborne, and the broad hood of her travelling cloak, she was well-protected from the elements.
The sky had lightened, she noticed. The grey finally touched the western horizon, streaks of yellow creeping around to the south as the first, faint suggestion of their shadows stretched itself across the dusty path ahead of them. The sunrise, when it came, would be spectacular , of that she was sure. She could only hope they made Gerudo Town before it came, so she could appreciate it fully rather than catching glimpses over her shoulder.
The slow sunrise threw the distant walls of Gerudo Town into relief, deepening the gate in the center of the eastern wall into shadow. It was likely still closed at this hour— the East Gate, according to the Gerudo Zelda had spoken with the night before, closed at twilight to protect the town from marauders, while the south gate was manned even in the dark of the night to grant access to travellers seeking refuge. The vai said the East Gate opened at dawn, or shortly before, but also that early travellers had been more harshly vetted since the old chieftain's death.
The path wound up towards the walls, which soared ever higher, and the sun had just kissed the horizon as Link and Zelda reached the wide, dark wooden doors at the eastern gate. Doors which were still shut, she noted, with some measure of disappointment.
"...Well?" Link asked.
He'd softened his voice, already playing the part of a woman even though Zelda doubted there were any Gerudo present yet to hear him. Or even that they'd call him out as being in disguise if he spoke with his normal voice— every Gerudo that Zelda had ever spoken to had possessed a deeper voice than the average Hylian woman.
Zelda hesitated a moment, then shrugged herself. "Now...I suppose we knock, and hope there are guards to hear it. I would prefer not to travel to the southern gate, if it can be helped."
Link nodded, reaching up to fasten his veil a little more securely, and Zelda turned back towards the gate. She strode forward, pausing before it to steel herself a moment, then rapped on the dark wood with her knuckles.
Silence.
She'd just raised her hand to knock again when the gate shifted outwards, though no gap opened between the doors.
"Who goes there?" a voice asked. Close, but muffled— the speaker must have been just on the other side of the gate.
"Princess Zelda Nohansen Bosphoramus, of Hyrule," Zelda answered, raising her voice a little so it would carry more clearly. "And my guard and escort, Link."
There was a moment of quiet, and then the right-hand door of the gate opened, and Zelda found herself nose to breastplate with a guard. She sprang back, face heating as she took in the vai's impressive height, her broad shoulders, the red-enameled gleam of her armor in the dawn light. And then her eyes tracked up further, to the glitter of dark eyes and the honed, shining point of the spear in the guard's right hand. The guard looked her over a moment, then cast her gaze to Link, who had stepped forward to stand directly behind Zelda. He tensed under her gaze, and she felt him shift slightly— she reached back and caught his wrist, stilling him before he could reach for a weapon. Then she reached up and pulled her veil down, letting the guard see her face clearly.
"...Well, I suppose you must be," the guard said. "The captain of the guard gave us orders to keep watch for your arrival...but I'd heard your escort was a voe ."
"Only a rumor," Link said behind her, his tone jarringly calm. "I'm as much a woman as you are."
Zelda froze, her words caught in her throat— surely the guard would see?
The guard laughed instead, throwing her head back. "Oh, Hylians," she said. "Come with me, I'll escort you to the palace."
She turned, then, and motioned them after her through the gate, into the wide, empty thoroughfares of Gerudo Town. A few torches still burned in sconces on the walls, dim and flickering after a night alight, and every door onto the main plaza was still shut. The scent of baking bread wafted through the air, though, and an unfamiliar bitter-roasted scent came with it as they passed a door marked with a stylized drawing of a cup. Across the plaza, a Gerudo vai emerged from a doorway to unfurl the sunshade in front of the building, pausing to watch the three of them as they passed. The palace waited at the end of the plaza, a soaring sandstone edifice with towers on either end, overtopped with a massive stone pillar from which water poured. The mist coming off the falls was a cool kiss in the slow-warming morning air.
A guard in blue enamel waited for them at the foot of the palace steps, and the guard who had met them at the gate exchanged a few hurried words in Gerudo with her, then stepped back to Link and Zelda.
"Your Highness, this is Aveil," the gate guard said, extending a hand towards the guard in blue, who nodded a greeting. "I'm needed at my post, but she'll take you where you need to go from here."
"Thank you," Zelda said, nodding politely. The gate guard winked at her in reply, then slipped past while Zelda gaped at her in shock, the heat rising in her cheeks again.
"Your Highness?" the guard in blue— Aveil , Zelda reminded herself— said, drawing her attention. "If you and your guard will follow me, I'll escort you to the guest quarters."
Zelda frowned, her stomach turning over uncertainly. "I was under the impression that I would be expected for a meeting with the chieftain as soon as possible?" she said.
"Chief Dragmire's orders state that your meeting isn't scheduled until midmorning," Aveil replied.
That , Zelda supposed, she understood. A chieftain would have more duties than she did as a princess— of course Dragmire wouldn't have time in her schedule to meet until then. And a few hours between now and their meeting would give her time to prepare for it. She nodded in response.
"Very well, then," she said. "Please, lead the way."
Aveil dipped her head in response and turned smartly on her heel, leading the way into the palace. She didn't wait, or shorten her strides to let them keep pace, and Zelda nearly had to jog to keep up with the vai's lengthy stride. Link caught up to her a pace later, sticking close to her side, and something about his gate spoke of nerves to her as they were led deeper in. Through the atrium, down a hall to the left, then up a flight of stairs— and up, and up, ascending into one of the bell-shaped towers Zelda had noticed on their arrival.
Aveil stopped outside a door on the second landing, unlatching it and pushing the door open. "Your rooms will be here for the duration of your stay, Your Highness," she said, gesturing into the room. "One of the palace guard will be here to retrieve you for your meeting at the second temple bell."
"Thank you," Zelda said, inclining her head politely.
Aveil nodded in response, but said nothing, turning and heading back down the staircase. Zelda paused in the doorway, watching Link as he eyed the stairs until the sound of her boots on the steps faded, leaving them alone on the landing.
"I get the feeling she doesn't like us very much," Zelda said, breaking the silence.
Link snorted. "No, I don't think she does," he agreed.
"...Well, there's not much we can do about that," Zelda said. "Shall we see our accommodations, then?"
Link nodded, then slipped past into the room ahead of her, a hand on the knife he carried at his belt as he stalked through the room. Zelda paused in the doorway, gazing about in fascination.
The room they'd been given faced eastward, and the sun shone golden through the open windows, gilding the pale sandstone walls. The floor was wooden, like the landing, but polished to a dark gloss, and covered in broad woven rugs. The geometric, tessellating patterns were familiar, like the rugs Zelda's mother had imported before her death, but far more ornate, the colors brighter— and, when Zelda removed her boots, the weave was tighter and the cloth finer than the ones she remembered. A pair of canopy beds sat with their headboards to the western wall, both hung with heavy woolen drapes patterned in deep red and blue and drawn back with cord at each of the posts. They were lower than Zelda was accustomed to, as seemed typical for Gerudo furniture, but when she made her way over to one and pressed on the sleeping cushion, it yielded to her hand as her bed at home did. The sheets were undyed linen, but were smooth and fine under her palm. Two chest-of-drawers stood on the wall opposite the beds, with two washstands between them. Curls of steam issued from the pitchers beside the basins themselves, and when Zelda pulled open the cabinet in the stand she found it well-stocked with towels and washcloths.
"Dragmire knows how to take care of her guests," Zelda said approvingly. "I'd hoped I'd have an opportunity to bathe before the meeting."
"If you want to bathe, I'll go and get us breakfast," Link said. "And I'll help you with your hair when I get back."
Zelda nodded, but she'd hardly gotten her thanks out before Link was gone again, leaving his pack on the bed closer to the door— as was their custom when they shared a room on the road. She sighed and set the dusty thing on the floor, then removed her own pack and began to go through her gear. She left her usual travelling clothes in the bottom of the pack— the long woolen tunic and trousers would be too heavy and too informal to wear— and removed her dress robes, laying them out across the bed to remove the wrinkles they'd developed. The finely woven sky-blue and violet dress looked almost out of place on the undyed bedsheets, as did her gold earrings and her circlet, when she located them.
She ignored it in favor of shedding her kurta and sirwal, shaking the dust from them and laying them out in the sun, then poured the steaming water into the basin and began to bathe. Face first, then her chest and shoulders, under her arms, then anywhere else that might have collected dust during the trek, before emptying the basin and beginning again with her hair, wetting it down and combing the dust from her thick, dark locks.
Then she dressed again, undyed chemise and dress robes and girdle, bracelets and broad, heavy necklace, and then her earrings. Her circlet she set aside— until Link made his return and helped with her hair, it would only be in the way.
The door swung open at that moment, as if her thoughts had summoned him, and Link stepped through, pushing it closed behind him with his foot. He had a bundle of cloth in one hand, and a waterskin in the other, both of which he set down on his bed.
"That didn't take very long," she said, and sat down to join him.
"The bazaar got busy," he replied, pulling down his veil. "I got into the tea shop before it got too full, though."
"What sort?"
"Mint. Iced mint."
He ducked down to his pack to retrieve their camp cups, then straightened and uncorked the waterskin, pouring a stream of greenish liquid from the mouth of it into their cups before handing one to her. It was chilled against her hands, but still redolent of mint, and Zelda's mouth watered. She took a careful sip, relishing the cool, sharp taste of the tea, closing her eyes to savor it properly.
"It's delicious," she said, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. "What else did you get?"
Link spread his hands, indicating his haul. "Some boiled eggs," he said. "And a couple of hydromelon tarts for us to share, and some flatbread— and this stuff the vendor called hummus , I think she said it was made from some kind of ground beans ?"
Zelda gave an approving hum, and picked up one of the eggs, carefully stripping it of its shell and setting the pieces back down into the cloth napkin Link had packed them in, to be disposed of later. He'd brought ground rock salt, she noticed, and ground pepper, and she sprinkled them over the egg to season it, watching Link tear into one of the hydromelon tarts. They looked chilled, like the tea had been, and for a moment Zelda wished he'd brought back something hot for breakfast. She put the thought aside quickly. Lunch would be light, and dinner would be hot. Eating anything too warm in the heat of the day would be foolish.
"So what did you hear in the markets?" Zelda asked. "Anything of interest?"
"Dragmire's active in the field, it sounds like," Link said around his bite. He held up his hand, chewing quickly, then swallowed before he spoke again. "Apparently she's been leading expeditions up to the old Yiga hideouts to try and sniff them out."
Zelda shook her head. "If it's the one up Karusa Valley, they won't be there. My grandfather ferreted them all out a century ago, when he took back the Thunder Helm they'd stolen."
"Clearly they had some, because the gossip says the hideout was long abandoned and there was no sign of where they might have gone," Link said. "And no one was able to track the raiding party that...you know, they were too busy with the old chieftain to—"
"To track her killers," Zelda finished.
"It wasn't just her, either," Link said. "Apparently they killed half her personal guard, too, and put the other half in the infirmary. The whole town is enraged over it, and from what I can tell most of the merchants would happily see a ban on Hylian and Sheikah traders inside the city walls until Dragmire roots the Yiga out and destroys them, no matter what it would do to their trade numbers."
Zelda grimaced. "That's going to make negotiations very hard, then. My father won't be happy with this whole affair unless I can get the Gerudo Town bazaar open to men."
Link hummed, taking a sip of his tea before he answered. "...Sounds more like His Majesty wants to open Gerudo Town for conquest , not trade."
"...That's more than likely the case," Zelda said quietly. "Lady Barriara— the last chieftain— was a friend of my mother's, and Father didn't dare try to take advantage of her, but...I think he may see her daughter's relative youth as a chance to force the Gerudo to swear allegiance to him."
Link scoffed. "Don't tell him I've said this, but he's been reading too many hero myths."
She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing outright, but the way Link grinned— rackish and lopsided— made it worth it.
"I won't say a word," she said, when she sobered, "as long as you don't tell him when I abandon negotiations to hunt the Flame with you."
"I wasn't going to tell him anyway," Link said. He paused, finished his tart, then picked up one of the eggs and began to peel it. "...Also, another thing about Dragmire, before I forget."
"Oh?" Zelda asked, sitting forward.
"Apparently she's a mage," he said. "According to one of the guards in the teahouse, she's been testing some of the old wards on the gates since the Yiga...you know. Supposedly that's why they're keeping all of them locked at night, now— the wards only work like they're supposed to if everything's shut and locked."
"Not sure how well that will work," Zelda said, then picked up one of the pieces of flatbread and sniffed the brownish paste Link had brought back with him. Hummus , he'd said. It smelled earthy, and sort of salty-spiced, and she dabbed at it with a finger for a taste before spreading it on the top of the flatbread. "My grandmother said the Yiga are masters of a more powerful version of the Sheikah shadow-step, one that might give them enough range to get past the walls."
"The guards think it works," Link replied with a shrug. "The one talking about it said the wards were supposed to be powerful enough to keep out the entire Hylian army, but if they're old…"
Zelda shrugged in turn. "Tell you the truth, I have no idea how Gerudo magic works. Some of them throw lightning, some of them can set things alight with their minds, apparently some cast wards —"
"Oh, Dragmire does the first one too," Link said. " Supposedly she's the most powerful mage since Lady Urbosa, back in your grandma's day."
"I'll need to see it to believe it," Zelda said. "Just like I'd need to see those wards in action."
"I don't think they'd have a good reason to lie about it, especially because they didn't know I was listening," Link said. He paused, then eyed the washbasins longingly. "...Will you mind if I—"
"Oh, no! Go ahead, I won't look," Zelda said hastily, and averted her eyes.
Link snorted and poked her gently in the shoulder, then stood, pulling the curtain at the foot of the bed closed for privacy. She could hear the shuffle of fabric on fabric clearly enough, though— the image of him shirtless was plain without her even needing to see it, and she settled back a bit to finish her tart, mulling over him and the upcoming meeting alike.
If she somehow failed in these negotiations, she'd return home in disgrace and be punished for it. Her father couldn't remove her from succession, of course— she was her mother's only daughter and the only girl-child in her generation, since her cousins were all boys and younger than her besides— but he would find some way to punish her for it. Take away her freedom to work with the archaeologists, likely as not. He disapproved of it anyway. Her mother had encouraged it, when she'd been alive, but her father had deemed the pursuit unseemly and made it quite clear he thought it a waste of time and a stain on her dignity.
That or he'd find someone to marry her off to and put an end to her travelling for good, a thought that made her grimace. The sons of noblemen were an exercise in frustration. Most of them had sprung from merchant stock, or from the shattered remnants of the noble houses before the Calamity two centuries before, and yet they'd so quickly grown accustomed to the court her grandmother had painstakingly reconstructed. They'd gotten used to the renewed presence of the knighthood, to the crews of monster-hunters her grandparents had organized to make the land safe for the people once more, and they'd gotten soft . Not a one of them had ever stood and meditated in holy springs to feel the pulse of magic in the ley lines, not a one of them could split an apple in twain from over two hundred paces, and not a one of them had ever failed to turn his nose up at her calloused hands when she invited them to dance.
They were nothing at all like Link, she mused, eyeing the curtain again. The splash of water filled the air, and Link's soft, tuneful humming of a song they'd heard in a tavern on their journey. The eldest son of an Akkalan farmer, he'd spent his whole life in the lowlands around Kanalet Village, the small farming town that had sprung up just north of the ruined keep. She hadn't thought much of him when they'd first met— he'd been a gangling youth whose clothing still smelled like goats— but she'd been quick to reevaluate him after the first week in his company.
And not once had he shied from her bow-roughened hands, either.
The splashing went quiet, and then the fabric rustling began again, and a minute later Link ducked around the side of the bed. His hair was damp but drying quickly in the warming air, and his kurta and sirwal were rumpled but free of dust, his veil loose around his neck. He settled onto the bed beside her, bouncing on it momentarily before relaxing.
"You wanted me to do your hair, right?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she said, and turned her back to him.
His fingers were in her hair a moment later— and then his comb, separating it out into sections to braid, starting at her part and working around to the side in a loop to pull it back away from her face. Then he began a second braid, on the opposite side, and Zelda recognized the style; the two would form a loop like a crown of laurels, and the rest of her hair would be pinned up and out of the way at her nape. A simple style, sure, but an elegant one, and his hands were skilled.
He'd hardly finished, and settled her circlet on her brow, when someone rapped on the door. Zelda jumped, her eyes flying open, then glanced at the windows— the sun was much higher now. Where had the time gone? One of Link's hands twitched, and she grabbed his wrist to still him. He'd gone for a blade already, and she didn't want to imagine the consequences if he drew on one of the guards.
"Just a moment!" she called, then flapped a hand at Link. "Veil, now!"
Link pouted up at her a moment, but he pulled his veil back up and affixed it in place. Zelda patted his shoulder, then helped him straighten the scarf. She'd have grabbed her own in solidarity, but it would have ruined the effect of her dress robes, and she couldn't afford that in negotiations. She stood, brushing at her skirt to straighten the creases, then made her way to the door and threw it open. Aveil stood on the other side, her muscular arms folded across her chest. One of her brows arched critically, and Zelda did her best not to flush under the warrior's stare.
"Thank you for your patience," Zelda said, steeling her spine.
Aveil nodded in return. "The chieftain is ready to receive you now," she said. "If you're ready, I will escort you to the stateroom— but your guard must stay here."
Link made an incredulous noise behind her, and Zelda reached back to stop him from making any hasty moves.
"It's alright," she said under her breath. "I'll be fine, Link."
"...I don't like it," he replied, but he subsided, taking a pace or two back away from the door.
Zelda turned back to Aveil, raising her chin. "I am ready. Lead the way."
The guard nodded, then turned sharply and set off down the stairs, leaving Zelda to hurry along behind her again. She bit back a protest— surely this was against protocol?— but, no, better to save the curtness of the guard for Dragmire's ears personally. Aveil left the staircase at the first landing rather than the ground floor, crossing a broad hall through the middle of the palace, then made a left-hand turn at a red-tiled mural Zelda didn't have the chance to stop and study.
She stopped a few doors down, standing beside one with the crest of the Gerudo marked in the center. Zelda paused, too, watching as Aveil knocked, then unlatched it and pushed it open, gesturing for her to enter. She nodded her head, almost reluctant to offer the courtesy, and stepped inside.
And stopped dead.
There were two people waiting for her in the stateroom, and her eyes flew first to the guard leaning against the chieftain's low-slung, ornate chair. She hardly looked older than Link, or Zelda herself, though she wore the pristine white enamel of the Gerudo royal guard. She wasn't the shock, though, for all that she was draped against the back of the chair and whispering in the chieftain's ear.
No, she wasn't the problem.
The Gerudo seated in the chair, wearing the crown of a Gerudo chieftain, was a man.
It didn't seem possible, and yet the longer she looked, the more man he seemed— and he could be nothing but Gerudo, with his umber-dark skin and long, fiery hair twisted in an elaborate bun beneath the ceremonial headdress. A large, deep orange topaz cabochon in a gold setting rested between his heavy brows, and the eyes beneath them were a pale and shocking gold like the eyes of a hawk. His large, proud nose had clearly been broken and set incorrectly at some point, but that did nothing to detract from the stark handsomeness of his features. A broad-collared necklace of hammered gold plates rested heavily on his bare collarbones, and the wrap-skirt and sash he wore were both mourning-black, embroidered crimson at the hems. Two fresh scars, still pink with healing, curved along either side of his chest beneath his pectorals.
Zelda bit her lip, hoping the pain would shock her back into the moment.
"Princess Zelda of Hyrule," he said, and Zelda grit her teeth. His voice was low and smooth, quiet in a way that carried far too easily in the small room. "We've been expecting you."
"Chief Dragmire?" she asked.
He nodded in response. "Indeed."
Zelda inclined her head in turn. "We are honored by your hospitality, my lord," she said. "Especially in this time of grief. The Crown of Hyrule extends our sympathies over the loss of your noble mother."
Dragmire's golden eyes narrowed sharply. "Do you indeed, my lady?" he said. "Perhaps you might, but I somehow doubt your noble father does the same."
Hot shame welled up in Zelda's throat. She tamped it down immediately, hands fisting in the sleeves of her robe.
"I would not have travelled so far to offer you our condolences if they weren't sincerely meant!" she protested.
One heavy crimson brow arched, and Dragmire settled his chin against the heel of his hand, studying her with cool dispassion. "Oh? So this is nothing to do, then, with the treaty you and I are meant to renegotiate?"
Her stomach turned uncomfortably. "...Well...it must be renegotiated— you know the tradition as well as I, each chieftain of the Gerudo—"
"Must negotiate the treaty between my people and yours, yes, I'm well aware," Dragmire retorted, rolling his eyes. "I am also well aware of the history of Hyrule's conquests of the Tantari Desert across the millennia, and of your lord father's ambitions. We do have trade with the Faronese as well as with Hyrule, as I'm sure you are aware."
"Well then, what do you want me to do?" Zelda snapped. "Or did you merely invite me here to insult me?"
"Oh, I think you're capable of doing that yourself," Dragmire said, and Zelda's nails bit crescents into the flesh of her palm. "But no, I invited you here to inform you that on no uncertain terms will I accept any of the proposed revisions to the treaty that you've been sent here to enact. You would be better served to return home, and take your petty merchants with you."
"I am afraid I cannot do that," Zelda said. "I understand your concerns, especially under the circumstances, but—"
"If you understand, then why do you persist in pushing this point? Even if I had no reason to fear an attempt by the Hylian crown on our sovereignty, I would seek to further restrict the presence of foreign merchants in my city! The Yiga are abroad!" Dragmire sprang to his feet, and Zelda's eyes dropped to his hands, clenched in tight fists. "You haven't the slightest idea what it's like to—"
He cut himself off there, looking away from her with shoulders heaving. Zelda winced. She'd heard her grandmother's stories about the Yiga— how they would disguise themselves as ordinary travellers and pass unseen through villages and towns, how they had stalked her grandfather merely for the Slate on his hip and the Sword he carried, wanting to make an offering of his blood to the Calamity they worshipped. How they had vanished, a century ago, after her grandfather raided their hideout and slew their leader.
How everyone who was still alive to remember them hoped Calamity's defeat had shattered them and dispersed them to the four winds.
"...I understand," Zelda said quietly. "Your people are under threat from an enemy you cannot see, and you fear for their safety."
Dragmire exhaled raggedly. "...You understand, then, that I will do what I must to defend them. I will not have any more taken from us, as they took my mother."
"I would not ask you to put them in danger," Zelda replied.
Dragmire's brows shot for his hairline. "...Then I see no reason to continue this argument," he said. "So long as you will agree to grant me what lenience I will need to protect my people's lives, I am willing to negotiate with you."
Zelda nodded. "I'm amenable to this, and will do my best to respect that boundary," she said. "But...before we begin our negotiations, I have a favor to ask of you."
"Ask, and you will see," Dragmire replied. His brows had arched further, and for a moment, Zelda hesitated— this would give him leverage to hold against her during their negotiations.
She put the thought aside. If Link failed his task, the outcome of their negotiations wouldn't matter. There wouldn't be a future left to apply the new treaty to .
"My escort, Link. H— she has never left Hyrule before, and I would ask that she be permitted to explore the city at her leisure, and to leave its walls if need be," Zelda said.
Dragmire hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "...I shall grant your request, so long as you and Link will agree to my conditions," he said. "Firstly, Link shall be granted permission to explore the city at her leisure, so long as she does not trespass on the Temple of the Triune, which is closed to outsiders, as is our custom. Secondly, Link's ability to leave the walls of Gerudo Town shall be conditional upon the presence of a member of my guard to accompany her."
Zelda narrowed her eyes. "I believe we will both be amenable to your first request, but may I ask the reasoning behind the second?"
Dragmire's full lips curved up in a smirk. "My reasoning is twofold. For my benefit, I would prefer to avoid the potential for Hylian conspiracies arising without warning— and for yours, I seek to avoid a diplomatic incident wherein your escort is murdered by a marauding Yiga."
Zelda grimaced. If she agreed to his conditions, that would severely limit their ability to gather information and locate the Flame without alerting anyone who might stop them— or, worse, without causing another diplomatic incident. But, at the same time…
"What if I decline?" she asked.
"Then I'm afraid Link will be confined to the palace and the town, and she won't have an opportunity to go sightseeing while you and I negotiate," Dragmire replied. His golden eyes had narrowed, and that wicked grin still tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Zelda grabbed at her sleeves to keep from punching him. He had her, there. Somehow, impossibly, he'd guessed they had a second errand in the desert, and— well. Either she allowed him to track Link's every move outside of Gerudo Town, or she condemned their mission to failure and the world to Calamity.
"Very well," she said, raising her chin. "I accept."
"Excellent," Dragmire said, and smiled at her, baring teeth as white and even as a row of pearls. "Nabooru? Please ensure the guard is aware that they may have a Hylian vai requesting an escort, for as long as the Princess of Hyrule is my guest— and make sure Aveil informs her of the conditions the Princess has agreed to."
The guard in white— Nabooru— nodded. "I might be willing to accompany her myself, if I've got the time," she said, and Dragmire snorted— Zelda's hands balled into fists again.
Then Nabooru ducked out the door and was gone, leaving only the two of them and their silence in the stateroom. Dragmire paused, looking Zelda up and down as if realizing, for the first time, that she was a physical person instead of the manifestation of an argument. Then he turned to one of the shelves on the walls, retrieving a thick folio from one of the cubbies, and seated himself at the low table, gesturing for her to join him. His eyes had gone dark. Zelda hesitated a moment, then sat down across the table from him, watching his large hands open the leather binding and spreading out sheafs of paper for her inspection.
"Well, then," he said, and looked up, meeting her gaze evenly. "Shall we begin?"