Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: The Arisen Darkness
"Go... go..." the dying guard rasped. The man looked up at Link with dire and imploring eyes.
Though Link did not wish that the valiant soldier should die alone, he need not be reminded twice of his obligation to protect the princess. Link wasted no time. He did not know who it was, but he imagined it, and it made him ill.
Klave picked up the dagger from the floor. "Tell us, Princess. Where is this young man?" Klave's voice remained soft, as he cut the fetters that bound her limbs. He sat down on her bed. Zelda remained silent. "If you're frightened by this," he spoke, holding up his knife, "I could away with it, or even lob it out that window if you like." He smiled and bid Silvanna put it away. It was a sincere smile, not meant to merely woo her from her security of silence. It revealed a certain tenderness within him.
His gentleness eased her, and brought to her face a hesitant smile as well.
"It was not meant to harm you," he added, referring to the blade. "Forgive our former harshness. We did not intend to distress you any further than could not otherwise be avoided." He looked up at Silvanna, but her expression was impassive. "Princess, it is of utmost importance that we locate the Ocarina of Time. It is for your own benefit."
"Even if I tell you, he would not—"
But Zelda didn't need to speak another word, for it was at that moment that Link's location was revealed of his own oblivious accord. He knocked furiously upon her door.
"Zelda...? Zelda!" The volume of his call was obstructed by the door, but its urgency was proportionally augmented.
No one spoke or stirred. He forced open the door, his sword already drawn. It swung open so fiercely that it hit the adjacent wall and swung closed once more. He did not even look upon the faces of the defendants before he spoke.
"If you lay so much as one detestable digit on her, I swear, I shall gut you from navel to nostril, and your entrails shall be my boot laces."
Lightning flashed in the young man's eyes, thunder clapped with the sound of steel on cold, unfeeling steel. He drew his sword skillfully, but his opponent had not been made the captain of the Hylian Army for showmanship alone. He blocked the blow with unmatched agility. Fire burned within the cavity of his chest and in his eyes with the incandescence of a thousand stars. Link's eyes met his. It was like looking through a window into hell. This was Sir Iain Klave. This was Zelda's father.
Klave scoffed in rebuttal, "Such brave words from a hollow coward. You have fallen to me once before."
True, but Link could have argued the fairness of being roused from sleep with sword at your throat or being sniped from behind by a hidden opponent, but he didn't. His determination only intensified. He drop-rolled out of the way of Klave's lumbering swing and struck him from behind. It was not a lethal strike, but it gained him some respect. Klave responded immediately with another broad stroke. He heard Zelda scream. Had Link not dodged a moment sooner it might have taken off his head. It merely scratched his cheek instead.
"Silvanna! Get her out of here!" He knew one of them would die and it was not his desire for his daughter to see it.
Each man watched the other, blades raised defensively. It was a morbid sort of dance.
"Young fool," Klave continued, "I shall spare you if you would but return the misgiven object."
"I shall not yield," Link answered sternly, "The Ocarina of Time shall not be taken from me so long as I may live to hold it."
"I do not desire to end you life, boy. I do not lust for blood, but if that be your resolution, I shall do as I must." With the force of a Goron hammer Klave brought down his weapon upon the young man.
There it was again. That sound. Iain knew he couldn't just be hearing things or entertaining obscure fancies. Yes, it was clearly someone yelling among some other unimaginable raucous—yelling from where? At such an hour? But it was so clear, so plain, so... down the hall.
"The Princess!" he gasped. In only a few swift steps he overtook the door to Zelda's room, the source of the proposed calamity of which his senses had so faithfully betrayed.
The wooden frame, in spite of its elaborate design, was no match for the strength of a royal guard. But a royal guard was no match for the ghastly scene that unfolded before him.
Link leaped to the side of the blow that would have otherwise cut him clean in half. What he lacked in brute strength, he made up for in nimbleness. Unfortunately, he moved faster than some of his more important cognitive processes, such as choosing a wise direction of movement. His back was to the door—the same door that Iain came crashing through, unaware of who stood behind it.
Link's unsuspecting body was battered like a medieval siege weapon into the princess's chamber wall. He slumped to the welcoming sanctuary of the cold stone floor and felt warm blood running over his lips as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Sensing the unusual crunch of the slamming door, Iain looked over his shoulder at the accident he had caused. There was no time to attend the hero now, however, as the knight diverted his attention to the intruders. Silvanna had gagged the princess and was trying to lead her out the window. Klave lowered his weapon.
"You..." Iain whispered, trembling, "You were... dead." It was as though his father's bodiless ghost stood before him.
"Iain, if my eyes do not deceive me? Goddesses, you are fast becoming of your father's semblance, which as you now witness, is hardly deceased."
"How is this...?" Iain asked, fearful of the true answer.
"My son, shouldn't you be gladdened your father's return?"
His tone hardened from shock to anger. "You deceived me. You abandoned my mother!"
"Well, Iain," he defended, appalled, "There were certain, necessary sacrifices to be made—"
"You may not be dead," his son interjected, "But you shall be directly!"
Iain swung his sword deftly against his enemy, but his blows were parried with equal precision and strength.
"I wondered why they never found your body," Iain seethed. He rotated into his next attack, but Klave's sword was already raised in defense. "Now it has proven to be yet quite attached to its spirit, eh?"
Iain could see that his father did not act offensively, but he was determined to both avenge his mother's honor and rescue his princess. If he refused to fight, then defeating him would then be a matter wearing down his defenses until he could deal the fatal blow.
"And why there was no memorial of your name," he continued, "And why the court would whisper when it was mentioned." Iain grew increasingly aggressive as his fury increased. "And why mother cried when I spoke your name—Oh, I had heard the rumors, but it never occurred to me to heed them—til now!"
Iain struck repeatedly, harder and faster, like lightning in a thunderstorm. Again and again, his fury rained down on his father like hail falling from the sky. Klave's defending arm slowed. Each deflection of his blade grew weaker until at last his knees could not suffer another. His shoulder was struck. His sword fell from his hands as he sank to his knees. Iain held his sword against his father's neck; the steel was an alloy of pain and hatred that was also reflected in his face.
"Come now, Iain," he pleaded nervously, "Do be reasonable. Remember I am your own blood, your father?"
"I have none to call father. Now stand, so that I might have the pleasure of killing you with dignity!" Iain raised his sword above his head as if to kill his victim in one clean blow, but froze suddenly as an arrow penetrated his armor between his chest and his shoulder. A second struck him in the neck, and then another in his side.
"Silvanna! What did you do? Why?" his father cried, turning towards her.
She was perched over the side of the window. Zelda was an unconscious heap on the floor beside her. "He would have killed you, Klave," she defended casually, "You should be thanking me." Silvanna was unfamiliar with the phrase, "Blood is thicker than water," perhaps because to her, there was no difference.
The young knight choked and spat blood from his lips. Wounds such as those leave little time for retaliation, however, with a gasping breath and the coughing of blood, he pulled his father towards him from behind and slit his throat.
Iain pulled the arrow from his side, knowing his wounds were fatal. He saw that other guards, hearing the commotion, were now present. He caught the blood dripping off his chin with one hand and held his bleeding body with the other. One guard was speaking to him, though he could not understand him. The world had become a blur. The only sound was a cacophony of violent deaths. Three other guards were escorting Silvanna, not in the manner of a guest.
"Take her... before the king." His vitality collapsed upon itself as he become one with the dust of the floor.