A/N: Whoo! Two chapters in one day! =D

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I almost made myself cry writing this one.

Chapter Thirteen:

Black Veil

"Then David and the people that were with him lifted up their voice and wept, until they had no more power to weep." ~ I Samuel 30:4

The castle bell tower had fallen. No ominous ringing echoed over the dismal sky. Only the cold, unfeeling wind accompanied the procession down the overgrown path to the royal sepulcher. It laid to the north, that ancient burial grounds, separate from the cemetery of the commoners. The underground chambers housed the coffined remains of monarchs of the past several hundred years.

And now, it would be the new home to the ever so small body of Abyll Taurë, youngest son of King Consort Link Taurë, and High Queen Zelda the Wise.

Against all that was screaming within him to go and throw himself into the high winds over Hyrule Field, gallop Epona far away from here, and return only when he'd filled that sudden hole in his heart, Link led the march to the Black Veil Crypt. So called after Zelda's ancestor, Queen Delilia Madrigol Cordelius, mourned herself to death in the presence of the tombs. Legend had it that the woman, grieving the loss of her husband to a bloody battle, opened the casket and laid a black veil over his face, and neither slept nor ate for months. They found her form of skin and bones lying over the rotting corpse of the king, mere hours after she died. The black veil couldn't even be pried from her stiffened fingers.

Since then, it had become a custom for the current queen to lay a black veil over each new coffin to enter the crypt. Today, Zelda would do so for the little box that held their son.

Even now, three days after the great battle, the memory of returning to the castle haunted Link's mind every waking moment. His rush up the great stairs, his hurry to reach the mound of rubble from the pillar… Part of him wished he hadn't been so quick. For when he uncovered the boy…

He'd never seen so much blood concentrated in such a small space. Abyll's form had barely been recognizable. Link had resisted the urge to pull the mangled body from the wreckage and search for any sign of life. It was ridiculous to think there would have been; he had seen the emptiness of those once vibrant blue eyes. They had stared, unnervingly so, up at him from under a bloodied brow… They would never sparkle again. Never wrinkle at the edges as he laughed, never squint when he was deep in thought, never accompany a puckered lip in a look that could crumble anyone's resolve…

Hang it all, he was crying again. He was the king, a warrior, the Hero of Time! Such a man as he did not cry… But even he saw straight through his own façade. At the moment, he was not a king. He was not a soldier. He was not the Hero of Time.

He was a father, mourning the violent loss of his eleven-year-old son.

He'd never felt such a churning in his gut as when he'd stumbled away from his son's crimson-stained body. He had truly felt as if he would be sick. He had faced gruesome monsters and vile creatures in his time, but he had never, not once, been queasy at the sight of blood. But this wasn't just some mindless creature's fluids – this was the red stain, the very lifeblood, of his own son. Abyll – sweet, sweet Abyll…

And then Zelda… She had been ill, very ferociously. He would never forget her scream – a sound of pure agony, shock, and repulsion. She had seen the blood, the carnage… and fled to retch onto the ash just outside the ruined castle doors. Link had wanted to go to her, help her, hold her, but he had been rooted to the spot, unable to move. He was told later, during a mechanical walk about the remains of the palace halls, that she had fallen unconscious after she was sick.

Link's gaze shifted, and he craned his head around to get a good look at his wife now. There was no color to her face – she looked white as a ghost, only sadder. Her long lashes hovered over her cheeks, her painted eyelids hiding her azure eyes, which he knew lacked their usual brightness. She wore her hair in a tight braid instead of loose and free and flying. A veil – the very black one she would lay on Abyll's grave – shielded her face from the rest of the world.

He longed to reach out to her, to envelope her in his embrace, to shield her from the hurt and pain, but somehow, he couldn't. Perhaps he knew that he could not save her from a despair that threatened to overtake him as well.

The crypt was just ahead. Its great, dark entrance gaped like an open mouth, awaiting its latest meal, as the tall, dry grass danced on its crest. Two great, aged oak trees stood guard at either side of the doorway, their strong bows stretching forth to receive the most recent unfortunate royal that had fallen victim to death's cruel hand.

Link swung from Epona's saddle, ignoring the jar of his ankles as he landed stiff on the hard earth. He led his horse aside, and the pallbearers continued to carry the small, light coffin forward, closer and closer to the waiting cavern. Zelda dismounted also, the skirts of her simple black gown playing at her ankles as she fell into step behind them. Link then took his place at her side, and they followed the casket in.

Darkness enveloped them, along with the musky, earthy scent of underground. It was damp, and dank, and the mere atmosphere of the place brought Link's morale to an all-time low – it reeked of death. Not in the physical sense; but it was as if the very earth about them was melancholy with grief.

The monotonous drone of the clergyman's voice drifted down the tunnels from outside, muffled through the many feet of solid ground. More than likely, he was attempting to comfort the mourners with stories of Abyll's blessed life, and the promises that they would see him again someday, in the future. For a reason beyond him – he blamed it on the mental strain of it all – the very idea angered him. It angered him, and filled him with regret, and guilt.

Abyll had barely passed eleven years. Link would never see him grow into a fine young man. He would never get to teach him everything there was to know about swordplay, nor would there be any more late night talks, just the two of them, father to son. Abyll would never find the one the Lord had chosen for him, and he would never have a family of his own. He'd never seen the majesty of Snowpeak, or the wonder of the Bridge of Eldin, or the vast Gerudo deserts. He hadn't even finished school.

So many wonderful things – and because Link had been unable to protect him, because Link had taught him to be so courageous, Abyll would miss out on all of it.

I should have been a better father.

He blinked, and realized that they stood before the gaping hole that was to be his son's resting place. The shadows hung so thick within, that as the pallbearers carried the coffin through the door, they disappeared altogether. He heard a hollow thunk, and knew that the box had been laid on the designated pedestal.

When the bearers exited once more, Zelda proceeded into the darkness of the room. All was then silent, save the despondent howl of the wind through the corridors, though Link thought he heard something like a stifled sob from the grave room. The queen soon emerged once more, and he caught sight of the sparkling of tears on her face.

The veil had been laid. It was time to go.

They stalked single file out of that house of death with the exception of two of the bearers, who lingered yet to seal the tomb. As they stepped out of the shrouds and into the grey light of the day, the clergy cast them a glance, and bowed his head.

"Father God, our young prince will be greatly missed. We ask that You heal the wounded hearts this day, and bring comfort to his parents, his family, and all those who mourn this heavy loss. Touch them now, and be with them in this time of sorrow. Amen."

The rest of the witnesses echoed a soft amen, and Link heard the rumble and resounding thud as the door deep within the tomb was sealed. Abyll now slept with the graves of his forbearers, peaceful, unfettered by the wars and grieves of this world. His spirit was gone on to the paradise of Heaven, to await there with his King until his family joined them, and they were all together for eternity.

Dear Lord, I don't think I can wait that long… O God! Help me… His chest began to ache once more. He couldn't imagine life ahead without Abyll, without his son, his little boy. First Caine, now Abyll. Both of his sons had been stolen from him, right out from under his nose. By the dragons.

He knew he was under emotional strain, and it was wearing on him. But vengeful fury welled up in him at the very thought of those wretched, cursed beasts! Cruel-hearted, unfeeling, murderous monsters! Something in him wanted to burst away from the mourning party that very moment, and track down those wretches until every last one of them was dead! He felt a hatred he'd never known before; and while he knew, deep down, it was wrong of him to think such things, for the moment, he was glad to let that anger burn away his sorrow.

But the anguish returned full force when the last two pallbearers came out from the crypt, and all began to depart from that woeful place. All except for Link, and Zelda.

They stood in silence, but it was not the usual companionable silence that they often shared together. It was harsh, and cold, and cruel. It tore at Link's heart as the biting wind made him shiver – he wanted to touch his wife, to hold her. He wanted them to lean on one another as they had always done in times previous. But something, something grief-stricken and angry kept her a few feet away from him.

He moved first. Gently, he reached out and laid his hand on her arm. His throat tightened when she didn't react in the least. Her gaze remained fastened to the mouth of the tomb. His brow furrowed with slight confusion, and he stepped closer.

This time, she pulled away. Though without looking at him, she remained the same distance apart. He tried again, with the same results.

"Zelda…" said he, placing his hand on her shoulder once more.

This time, she erupted.

"NO!" The word was practically a scream as she leapt away, turning her furious glossy eyes to him. A lone tear streaked down her ivory face, and her lip quivered. "You're going to stand there and tell me that everything is all right like you always do; well, it isn't!"

He stared at her, stunned into brief silence by her uncharacteristic outburst. He fumbled for words to respond. "Zelda, I-I-"

"Oh, I don't want to listen to you right now! It's your fault he's dead!"

The words hit him like a brutal slap, and he recoiled from her, as if his hand had been singed. The proverbial knife pierced his heart, and for a moment, he could form no words over the lump in his throat.

Zelda continued, raking her fingers through her hair and gripping it at the roots. "You had to tell him! You just had to tell him! If you hadn't told him all those stories of heroic rescues and deeds of valor, he would have fled, ran away with the others! But he wanted to be just like you, Link; why oh why did he have to choose you! He wanted to be like you…" She was beginning to sob, tears flowing freely now. "It's because of you that he was foolish enough to try and battle that dragon, because of you that he jumped willingly into danger! And now, he's dead! Dead! Never coming back!"

The knife had been twisted, and he could bear it no longer. Without a word, he jumped into Epona's saddle, clutched the reins, and fled. Fled that dismal place, that cursed hill, fled the hurt, the grief, the guilt, and Zelda's stinging words.

An hour passed, and he had reached Lake Hylia before he realized his throat was raw from sobbing – sobbing, crying like a pitiful child. But the agonized sounds continued to pour from his mouth, and he was powerless to stop them. His eyes felt hot and swollen, but the salty tears had yet to cease falling. He came to the lake shore and practically fell from Epona's back onto the damp banks, his knees instantly becoming soaked. An tormented groan of pain and sorrow wrenched from his throat, and he buried his face in his hands, back bent under the weight of guilt and grief, and wept.

Wept bitterly, long, and hard. His cries echoed over the waters of the lake, returning to mock him after exploring their reaches.

The Hero of Time had crumbled. But this time, there was no one to gather the pieces.

He did not know how much time passed. Clouds obscured the sun, and there was no difference in the light when he finally looked up again. His tears were spent, his eyes stiff and dry, his face stained with salt. With his grief exhausted, he felt like a shell – brittle, worn, and empty. He stared emotionless at the rippling surface of the lake. It usually looked so calm, so peaceful, so pure. Yet now, dyed grey by the reflection of the dreary clouds, it held no joy, no freedom.

But he felt a desire to enter its chilling embrace nonetheless. He slipped his thick, black tunic over his head and tossed it onto drier ground behind him, and kicked off his heavy boots. Then, ignoring the frigid temperature of the water, he waded into its depths until his feet could no longer touch the lakebed below. He swam further still, until Epona was simply a chestnut figurine on the lake shore. Only then did he stop and shift onto his back, floating along the surface of the waters, staring detachedly up at the slow-moving grey veil, letting the icy liquid utterly numb him.

Again, he lost track of the hours. Perhaps it was only minutes. Perhaps it was days. But when his very insides began to shiver, he knew it was about time he got out. He was halfway back to the banks when he looked up, and caught sight of a figure standing alone waiting for him.

Her black gown gave her away. He knew it well; she had worn it to her father's funeral, as well as her child's. The gown was in good condition, so little had it been used.

He reached the bank, and climbed out of the freezing lake. Water streaked from his hair down his face, and he blinked it away as he stepped up to her. She held his tunic tightly in her trembling fingers.

There were no words spoken. But this silence was different. It was amazing how many definitions a silence between them could hold. Link looked down at her with humble apology – she had been correct, he knew. He had filled their son's head with fancies of heroism and-

Tears welled in Zelda's eyes, and she looked down at the tunic in her hands, bowing her head. Without hesitation, he placed a hand under her jaw to lift her face. She searched his gaze imploringly, and he forgave her without saying a word. A hint of sad relief reached her eyes then, and he anticipated her next action before she did it. She leaned into him, and he readily wrapped his arms about her. She said nothing about the iciness of his skin, and he let her warmth wash over him like a blanket.

In that moment, he felt more peaceful than he had in days. And it wasn't just Zelda – it was like a comforting presence enveloped them, there on the banks of Lake Hylia, and his spirits lifted again. With Zelda nestled in his embrace, and the wind died down to a gentle breeze that wafted through the grass and through their hair, he somehow knew – he didn't know how he knew, but he did – that things wouldn't be like this for long. Wounds would heal over time.

Everything would be all right.

~-LoZ-~

All he could see was his brother's terrified face. Those blue eyes – the eyes that had always been so happy, so joyous, so trusting. They were staring up at him in horror as he gripped the small boy in his claws. And then the pillar collapsed.

Caine closed his eyes, but that only made the vision all the more vivid. He couldn't escape it; he couldn't forget what he had done.

He had killed his own brother. In cold blood. Intentionally.

His hands tingled. He felt hot blood oozing between his fingers, and his eyes flew open frantically, if only to be sure it was only his imagination. There they were, stainless – or, at least, in the physical sense of the word. But how stained they truly were…

You aren't regretting all of this, are you?

He shook his head, lowering his hands. No, he wasn't. He couldn't. Not only had everything gone so well up to now, but he was in too deep. There was no possible way anything could ever be the way it was.

Then why are you wishing it could?

He couldn't deny it. If he was honest to himself – which wasn't often – he knew that he missed his home, his room, his old life – even his parents.

Oh, his parents… No doubt they were grieving violently, mourning the loss of their son. Their supposed 'last son'. Rumors had reached his ears that many thought him dead; and now Abyll was dead as well. The male heirs to the throne were spent. Only little Erulissë remained. How he missed his sister. Her sweet, cherubic face, her rippling giggle, her shining eyes.

But it was all gone. He'd gone too far. There would be no return for him.

Nor will there ever be. You belong here! This is where you and your talents are appreciated. Where you are recognized. Your home. There is no other place. That place was another time, another life – a dream. It's time to accept the real world. You are Caine White-eyes, son of Ameas Night, and heir to the draconic throne. Here will you stay.

He had heard this many times. And for once, it did nothing to lighten his mood. His mind continued to dwell on thoughts of his home, his family, and everything surrounding it. He found that he missed them dearly, and for the first time in a long time, his eyes began to burn. He stubbornly refused until they hurt; he would not allow himself such a blatant display of weakness.

Still, he felt a single tear graze the scales below his eye, and he hastily wiped it away, glancing to and fro to be sure none of the bats or other dragons were watching. Particularly Ameas. If the dragon king saw him crying, he would never hear the end of it.

The boy in him was begging to be released, begging to return home to his parents. But that little boy was all but dead. Just like Abyll. It was smothered by the cruel claws of a dragon – himself. He had stifled his own heart – he was killing himself.

Slowly but surely, he knew it to be true. His sanity waned with each passing day, and he was constantly losing his temper. When he did, it was as if a red veil fell over his eyes, and he was no longer in conscious control of his actions. A beast took over then, and reaped havoc on anything and anyone around him. And Caine was becoming weaker and weaker against it. He was losing the battle over his own mind.

And it was because of this that his brother was dead. He was blinded, blinded by hatred, and evil. With nothing more than maliciousness and contempt in his heart, he had slain that innocent little boy… Then again… he had slain plenty of innocents in the past weeks. But this was his own brother, Abyll, whom he had known since the boy's birth. He'd been five years old when his father had ushered him into the birthing room to see his mother cradling the pink-faced, cotton-haired newborn infant in her arms.

He'd felt such an anticipation then. He was going to be the best big brother ever, he had promised his parents. What a far cry from that he turned out to be…

His heart lurched. Suddenly, he couldn't see. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, growling at himself and the world that had suddenly become so dark and stained with blood. Why had he ever agreed to this? Why had he wanted it? When he fooled Abyll into touching the sword… He'd wanted to see him hurt. But this? Was this truly worth it? Heartless murder?

Too many questions! He couldn't answer any of them, and it was driving him mad! He extended his wings and took to the grey skies, flying hurriedly away from Tarha and toward the plains of Faron. He needed somewhere he could be alone, and think long and hard. The wind whipped at his face, driving the tears from his eyes even as he sought to escape them. He flew for miles – he didn't know exactly how far it was until his wings tired to the breaking point and he was forced to land. He fluttered to the ground, and collapsed in a pitiful heap of scales and tears.

His little brother… His little brother… Dead. Murdered by his own hands. The wickedness that had so much control over him rejoiced at that fact, but for the moment, he was letting that innocent young boy through. He needed – wanted – to mourn for Abyll.

Those sparkling blue eyes. Lively blue eyes. The ones everyone said were just like his father's. That cock-eyed grin… All gone.

They weren't supposed to be gone! Abyll was only eleven! He should have had an entire lifetime ahead of him. And now, because, all because of Caine, he couldn't. His life was over. Said and done. Nothing could change that now.

He wrapped his wings about himself and rocked back and forth. The self-stimulation did little to calm him, and it only served to make him feel even more childish. But at the moment, he didn't care. He was content to weep and comfort himself for the time being.

Poor Abyll… Poor Mother and Father! They believed that both of their sons were dead. Their beloved sons… Beloved… It had been a long time since he thought of himself as that. If they knew he had killed Abyll, he wouldn't be so 'beloved'. They would hate him, shun him, disown him, exile him… or worse… execute him. After all, it was the traditional punishment for a murderer, and it would be what he deserved. For all he had done as a dragon, he deserved death. And for a brief moment, he found himself wishing it would just take him now.

The cold northern wind rushed over him, making him shiver. Winter was on the prowl; any day now, it would strike, and strike hard. And with it, Ameas planned to strike as well. Keskus was crippled, and in the midst of their mourning for the young prince, they would be unsuspecting. The Great Hero would be too weak with grief to resist them, Master Sword or no.

Kicking a man when he was down. Attacking from behind. The coward's blow. Caine shuddered, both from cold and sudden disgust. He knew he could be killed for those thoughts. But he let them come anyway. The remains of his innocence balked and fought at the idea of attacking now, with the loss so raw as it was. But there was no reasoning with Ameas, not when victory was so near at hand.

For a long while he contemplated escaping, here, now, in the fields of Faron. He could get away, perhaps flee to Snowpeak and live out the rest of his days there. But what sort of existence was that? A wasted one, that's what. And he'd already wasted away enough of it.

There was nothing he could do. He'd already sold himself to the dragon, and he could only resign that he belonged fully to him now. Ameas owned him. Caine was just as bad as he was, if not worse. He finally fit in among them, criminals, fiends, and murderers, the lot of them. Heartless savages.

How disappointed his family, his loved ones would be in him now.

But there was no helping that. There was nothing left but to continue, continue in this merciless barrage of blood and death, and conquering. He would follow Ameas to whatever doom awaited them. After all, he wasn't good for anything else now. He was soiled, defiled, blackened like the fields roundabout Keskus, burned by the fires of revenge and hatred. And there was no cure, no healing, no salvation that could save him now.

There was no turning back.