Prompt No.28
Word count: ~530
Universe: Breath of the Wild
Pairings: Zelink
Rating: T
Themes: Abduction, imprisonment, torture, beatings
Beaten
He hears a voice, begging him to wake, and she's screaming.
Hands close over his wrist as he comes to grip with consciousness, clap over his mouth, pull at his hair and his body, and soon he's being ripped out of a glowing altar, dripping and naked, and amidst a flurry of white masks painted in blood and blows to subdue him, all he can think is that he has no idea who he is.
He's gagged and beaten and carted through blinding sunlight and disorienting dark, through sweltering days and freezing nights. They lead him through a canyon, wrists bound and mouth tasting of old fabric and dust, and slip into the shadows of their hideout under cover of darkness so thick he can't see his hands in front of his face. They drag him into a cell and wrench his hands back and out, shackling him to hang from his wrists, and then he sees no one for three days.
It takes a while for the voice to find him. She isn't screaming anymore; her voice is gentle, like a drop of water in that abysmal place, trying to draw him towards hope. She tells him not to give up. She tells him to try to remember.
When they come back for him, they bottle-feed him a canteen of water that he drinks so desperately he whines when he feels some spill down his neck, and give him a little food, and then they beat him until he blacks out.
Sometimes they come for him with whips and chains. Sometimes when they bring him the canteen they tip it over and let him watch the water spill all over the floor. Sometimes they carve into him with sickles or hot irons, or close their hands over his nose and mouth until the world turns white. Sometimes, when the voice speaks to him, he talks back.
"Who are they?" he asks her once between bouts of darkness. "Why are they doing this?"
"The Yiga," she answers. Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, as thought she might be heard. He knows she won't. He's heard her screaming when they torture him. "They abuse you because of who you are."
"I don't even know who I am."
"I've told you."
"Knowing my name and my destiny doesn't mean I know myself," he murmurs, bitterly, blood slipping between his teeth, and she goes silent. "I wish I could remember you."
"It's there," she assures him gently. "In your mind."
He spits weakly, trying to clear his lips of the taste of grime and rust, and stares for a while into the void in his memory where her face should be.
"They say you can't hold him forever," he whispers, throat hoarse from screaming. "They say it's only a matter of time until he breaks free."
"They're probably right."
"They say I was your last hope."
For reasons he can't fathom, there's a smile on her voice.
"Yes."
He stares incredulously into the dark. "Then why do you hold on?"
"Why do you?"
"I… I want to see your face."
Her voice is smiling again.
"I want to see yours."