Every Shard of My Heart Belongs to You: In Actions and in Truth
In spite of all Man's absurd notions, of all his destruction, his benevolence, his hatred, his apathy and his wickedness, there is but one weakness—which is often wrought against him if his conscience is whole—of which his humanity inclines him to be ultimately defeated. This weakness, so terrible in wonder, is the human tear.
This tear fell freely from Silvanna's eye, like her heart fell the night she had been banished. It fell in a drop from her face, rolled off her chin and splashed onto her bare foot like her shattering heart onto the wooden scaffold. The shards bit her ankles.
Sessions of the Royal Court were traditionally held under open air so as to not inconvenience the executioner with the burden of suspense. There the miscreant could be tried and, if necessary, executed by means of hanging, beheading, or—as was the customary punishment for treason—burning.
A veranda had been built before Harkinian's time in order to shelter the three podiums of the justices as well as the gallery where the nobility and courtiers would serve as an audience. But above the scaffold, there was no roof. The wooden platform, where the accused would stand, rested before the podiums of justice and was surrounded by the gallery on three sides. Above the justices, there was a small balcony, which seated the presiding royal authority. At this proceeding, the youthful Princess presided. Link sat faithfully behind her.
Silvanna shivered in her bare feet and the gray cotton dress she had been made to wear. Her possessions had been confiscated.
The head justice's voice bellowed, "Prisoner, state your name."
"I have had so many, my lord, that I no longer know." The gallery muttered and scoffed.
"The one you were given at birth, prisoner."
"Hylia."
The gallery was silent, except for hushed whispers. The justices exchanged skeptical glances. Had they heard correctly?
"Utter not such falsehoods, prisoner. All bearers of that name are extinct."
Had the setting of this trial taken place years before, the former queen would have been immediately recognized, but there were few now at the court that would have known her even if her appearance had remained unchanged. She had practically been a child herself when Zelda was born, not yet even nineteen. The only remembrance Hyrule had now of the queen was her grave and several portraits from her youth. Her golden hair no longer shown so brilliantly; her bright eyes were now dull and her skin not so soft or fair.
The head justice grew impatient. "I shall ask you once more to state your name of birth."
"If I have not yet given my lords sufficient answer, then none shall suffice."
"Very well." He signed, vexed. "The prisoner is charged with treason against the court of Hyrule for the assassination of our lord, the King Harkinian. How does the prisoner plead to these charges?"
"The prisoner denies them not." Her voice was low, but confident.
Surprised by the prisoner's plea, he glanced to his left and right, receiving assenting nods from both, and he continued, "The prisoner has been found guilty of her crime. If she has any final words before her sentence, she may speak them now."
For a moment she did not speak. Death was inevitable, and she mentally prepared herself for it. With all the eloquence and royal fluency she could muster, she projected her voice.
"My lords..." She then turned to the gallery. "Gentle nobles of Hyrule... I was born a slave—a slave discontented! But I have already taken mine own life, nigh twenty years since, so there is nothing you can take from me. Nothing. Nothing but pride beats within this breast, and that no mortal can touch! Pride! That I, Silvanna Hylia, refused the shackles of my inheritance! That I spat in the face of oppression! For this, I stand before you. For love of a man, I stand before you! For vengeance against the one who raped my soul, I stand before you! Because I chose to have lived a life, I have been damned! Would not one among you have done the same? Who would not die for such as this! For Silvanna Harkinian is cold in her grave, my lords! But Hylia yet lives, and shall hereafter!"
All was still and silent, save Silvanna's labored breath and a gentle wind that caressed her hair.
"The Royal Judiciary sentences the prisoner to burn." The gallery, fast becoming a mob, exploded with jeers of approval. They affirmed she was a mad and treasonous woman with verbal torches and pitchforks. The lesser justice to the right calmed the gallery.
The head justice added, "Unless, her royal majesty, the crowned princess, should have the desire to pardon such lunacy?"
The stake had already been prepared on the grounds outside the castle, and every eye in the court looked to Zelda. Silvanna's expression was likewise fixed upon her daughter, not with imploring eyes that pleaded for mercy, but with stolid willfulness.
Only Link, who sat with her on the balcony, saw her shudder.
Zelda was overwhelmed by the woman's fiery words and the intensity of her gaze. She was forced to look away. The princess had only ever attended a trial twice at the Royal Court. On neither occasion was the accused put to death. Her father was a forgiving man.
"Link?" She spoke softly so that none below could listen.
"I am here." He touched her hand. It was cold with fear.
"Who is this woman, Link? Why does she speak such things?" Only Link knew, but he could not say. "What if this is not madness? What if this is my mother?"
"Your mother is dead, Zelda, and in any case, it wouldn't matter. Remember the nature of her crime. The law cares about the color of her blood."
"But is it right to condemn her?" The princess couldn't help but understand a woman whose misdeeds were an extension of her desire to live a normal life, whose position as an heiress to the throne enslaved her, and whose damnation was a result of breaking those chains. There was a part of Zelda that even envied her and her freedom. She asked Link shyly, "Wouldn't you do such things for love?"
"For love, Zelda, but not this." His eyes looked at her with an intensity that could pierce one's soul. "Love is selfless. It does not take part in such vileness. It was but lust and foolhardy pride that drove her."