Hello everyone,
Thank you to DrewB1442 for following!
Responses to Reviews:
Unregistereduser: I guess that's true, it's more fluffy than anything else. In my head though, I imagined Ravio was caring for Link out of deep affections ;) ;), but it was brief and simple, so it was more friendship based. I would love to do a continuation but the idea was so simple I can't see it going very far. Blame that dumb block of mine! Luckily I've got another idea brewing for that couple that'll be much cuter and more romantic ;)) Haha anyways, this one was inspired by one of your suggestions so I really do hope you like it! Thank you for your support!
Ragnar: Omg XD! That's definitely going to be bobbing in my head for awhile, and I'll try to think of a way to write something like that. Thank you for your suggestion!
This is a YugaxHilda one-shot inspired by my friend who goes by Unregistereduser. I hope everyone enjoys!
Suggestions are welcome as well :)
portrait
She's done it again. Though Hilda's been told time and time again not to step past the palace doors, she's slipped through the very thin line of defense, daring to see what lies beyond.
Her frail arms and legs pump as she approaches the final boundary: the castle gates, and slows to a halt as she comes face to face with the iron steel bars. The gate's rusted, and leaves behind the sharp odor of blood. Her white gloves graze the surface of the iron, staining them with ash and soot, and she draws them away with disdain; her advisor's always chastised her for her filthy habits and she knows she'll get an earful for this.
Her red eyes search the courtyard hastily for an exit lest somebody find her at the last moment, until they land on prickly and unkempt wooden vines. The princess mindlessly licks her purple lips - undoubtedly fading it's vibrant color – before she races towards it and grabs hold on the vines. The thorns find their way into the fabric of her gloves, slicing into her skin and marking her with her own blood, but she pays no mind to the scars and scratches as she heaves herself up one bristle at a time.
As she nears the top, Hilda comes to the startling realization that her weight is too heavy; she can feel the wood begin to give beneath her. Her heart pounds a little quicker and she can feel beads of sweat coat her skin, but she presses on. At last, a twig snaps beneath her grasp and her heart finally stops beating altogether for a brief moment. Her hands scramble for a hold on dead leaves, on a loose branch, anything, until they touch the top of the wall. She holds her breath as she pushes herself upward, arms sore and head pounding, until her knees scrape against the dirty wall and her head rises.
For the first time, unrestrained by walls, the princess sees the full majesty of Lorule before her. She's always dreamed of what it would look like, feel like, when she saw it for the first time; she wasn't ignorant, she knew that the kingdom hasn't been thriving. But here, staring at all corners of the southern field, she can't help feeling disappointed.
Almost all the land, grass, and trees are dead; any of it that isn't is already dying. The buildings and structures are crumbling beneath themselves, unlike the sturdy walls of the castle that she's grown up in. The air is cold but there is no wind. The world is at a standstill and Lorule is dead.
The princess releases the breath she'd been holding with a breathy sigh and the illusion of the still world shatters like glass. She can spot a bandit of thieves gathering at a crook of one of the corroded buildings and see the shadows of lurkers merging with the leaves'. There is an echo of wolf howls and screams coming from somewhere near the village and for a brief moment she actually wishes the world were motionless again.
But her heart longs for her kingdom's wellbeing, and though she knows better than it, she finds herself climbing down the other side of the wall and racing towards the sound of the scream. The small town is nothing more than barren land with discolored buildings scattered about, and the world is so quiet she isn't sure anyone's living here anymore. But where did the scream come from?
Her hands shake and she takes a hesitant step onto the dirt-smeared cobblestones. "Hello?" she calls, not truly expecting an answer in response. Her voice mocks itself as though it's lonely, as though even it expects no one to respond.
Within moments, people masked by hoods and cloaks emerge from the shadows, crawling towards her so ominously that she finds herself stepping back.
"Well, well, well lookit what we have here," says a low voice, "it's the lil' princess."
A tall man rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck as he steps in closer. "Whatcha doin' here, girly, got lost from the castle or somethin'?" He snorts and the crew laughs. "I'll give you a hint; it's the large, shiny buildin' with all the real crooks."
She holds a hand to her chest, red eyes wide. "I…I'm sorry, I just thought-"
"Thought?" one mocks. "Whattya know, a royal who uses her brain!"
"Ha, couldn't be," dismisses a man in a black cape, "we haven't had one o' those, well, ever."
Hilda could feel a hot, tense anger bubble in her chest; who were these people to ridicule her ancestors like this?
"Look," she starts with a voice that sounds tougher than she feels, straightening her posture, "I don't know who you think you are, but I-"
Before the words could escape her, a fist blows against her chin and knocks her to ground; she holds her dirty glove to her hand as she looks up in horror. "Who are you to talk to us like that, you filthy noble?" the tall man bellows above her, and they all swarm around her. She feels a kick in her stomach and she lets out a cry.
"You stupid brat, stealing from us!"
"You don't know what we've been through! What it's like out here!"
A woman in torn clothes kneels down and pulls at Hilda's ruby necklace, so much that it chokes her and she can see the heat in the ruffian's eyes. "We starve, we hunt, so you can wear this." She rips it off her neck and small beads of silver bounce on the cobblestones beneath them.
She can hear the hatred, the anger, the pain in their voice and her heart races; what has been happening in Lorule?
"No! Please," she begs, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. Please!"
They pull at her hair, tear at her clothes, and rob her blind before he comes to her rescue. With a graceful wave of his hand, the swarm is pushed aside as though an intense, brilliant wind has blown them from her.
At last, a wind blows in the flat, dead air.
"What have I told you?" scolds he, and his harsh voice reverberates in the large, empty room.
The princess knows what's coming; she's awaited this lecture since the moment she stepped foot in the courtyard, but she still grimaces at the tone of his voice.
They sit in the security, the privacy, of her room; she's seated in the velvet seat at her vanity and Yuga sits across from her in a comfortable armchair. The ruffians were right, she realizes; they live in such poverty and yet she owns luxuries like this. Her hand rubs against the velvet and her skin crawls as the rich fabric brushes against her glove.
A moist towel wipes across her face, washing away the makeup, the dirt, the blood. It leaves a trail of cleanliness in its wake; it's the process of removing a mask and she feels cold and vulnerable.
"Do you see, now, why I tell you not to go out there? Lorule is not safe for a fine young lady like you." He drops the towel onto his lap and tips a bottle of alcohol onto a cloth. "This will sting," he warns, and presses the fabric all over her skin, cleaning away the uncleanliness, purifying her skin. She winces when he presses against a particularly purple bruise, but overall, she feels safe in his hands.
He has the talent of an artist; every stroke is gentle and smooth, and his wild eyes are tame and focused. She wonders if she were to allow him to paint her, how'd she look? What would change if her features were in his control, were in his fair and strong hands?
Hilda leans her head further into his grip and feels as though she could fall asleep right then and there.
"I know, Yuga," she says after a moment. "I…I'm sorry."
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. "You must understand, Your Grace, that I only want to see you safe. I've taken it upon myself to protect you and by the goddesses, I will never fail at that."
Hilda stays silent as she allows the weight of his words fall over her; his loyalty astounds her. After she's seen how Lorule despises her, how the rest of the kingdom exists – it's not even fair to say that they are living at this point – she can hardly believe he's still at her side.
"Why is that, Yuga?" she boldly asks, licking her lips in anticipation.
He squints his eyes as he examines her, trying to read into her, and she feels more vulnerable now than ever. "I'm not sure what you mean, Your Grace." The cloth is thrown with a flick of his wrist and falls gracefully on her bed.
"I mean," she begins, "why do you stand by me, even when Lorule has given up on me? Why don't you pledge your allegiance to a thriving kingdom instead?" Yuga ponders her question with great sincerity, his lips pursed the slightest. Hilda's eyes are trained on them.
At long last, he stands and puts his hands on either of her shoulders. Her breath quickens and she looks up in amazement; he smirks because he understands what she thinks of. Teasing her for only a moment longer, he spins her on the velvet seat until she is looking at her reflection: her unveiled features, her cold expression.
Her advisor leans to whisper against her ear, though his eyes stare solely at his own reflection. He does not look at her and she doesn't blame him. "Do you know what I see?" he breathes against her ear. She holds her own breath and he finally meets her gaze through the mirror.
"I see a queen."
Hilda freezes in his grasp but he only tightens his hold. "When I see you, I see the future of Lorule. I see wisdom in your eyes and I see strength in your bones. Never before, in all the lands and all the men I've seen, have I seen such beauty.
"You will rule, My Grace, and for that, I will always be by your side."
Her heart bounds, it leaps, it soars, and she cannot help the smile that pulls at her lips. She lays her dirty glove over his grip on her shoulder, and he sweeps her violet hair over and across her back.
The moment is still and she couldn't be more grateful, as he presses his lips at the back of her neck.
After a lingering moment, Hilda spins back to face him and he kneels before her; his breath is steady and warm, hers trembles. With the patience of a painter, he tugs at each finger of her glove, peeling the filthy layer as though it were her second skin. He unveils her; he releases her. At last, the fabric slides off her skin and he holds his bare hand onto hers.
"We shall rule, Yuga," she promises.